


The Bootstrap Paradox and Other Tips for Finding True Love

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Hush Sound, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., The Cab
Genre: AU, F/M, Harlequin, M/M, Multi, Pirates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to the harlequin_bands challenge:  Swept from her dismal present in the 1990s (facing unemployment and the singles scene), Phoebe Turlow takes a wrong turn at a hotel (while attending a “free” vacation in the Caribbean, sponsored by a condo company) and winds up in the seventeenth century in the company of a sexy, witty pirate named Duncan Rourke.  As if Rourke does not have enough to do fighting the British in the American Revolution, he has to determine whether short haired, strange speaking Phoebe is a spy, a witch, or worse.  Instead, he falls in love with her.<br/>Okay, so Ryan was going to be Phoebe and Brendon Duncan, except then somehow Spencer and Jon took over the story, and so this really tells the story of Phoebe and Duncan’s best friends.  Oh, also changed it to the eighteenth century, since I’m *pretty* sure that’s when the American Revolution actually took place…*shrug*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bootstrap Paradox and Other Tips for Finding True Love

Ryan declared Creative Writing as his major on the first day of the first quarter of his college education. He’d never wanted to do anything else, except maybe make music, but he was realistic about things. His scholarship would pay for an Arts and Sciences major, but not a Fine Arts one.

Spencer hadn’t decided so easily as Ryan. He’d started off as Mathematics major and switched to Computer Engineering at the end of freshman year. Ryan teased him about being fickle, but Spencer knew it was a reasonable choice. Maybe he wanted to make music, but there wasn’t money in that. Besides, if Ryan was going to pursue his dream to make poetry, one of them had to be able to pay the bills. 

Ryan finished at the top of his class and was accepted to a graduate programme on the east coast. He and Spencer got into a fight about how practical a master’s degree in Creative Writing could possibly be, but in the end, Spencer followed him, taking up a graduate programme himself in a neighbouring school. 

It wasn’t so bad for Ryan; he wasn’t _paying_ for any of it. In fact, the university was paying him to attend. He wasn’t a big fan of teaching, the condition of his acceptance, but though he grumbled, Spencer said it was better than the McDonald’s job he could have looked forward to, otherwise. 

Spencer finished with his master’s degree in a year and a half, and landed a sweet job in the city. They moved out of their shitty apartment on the east side and into the trendy downtown area where all the young, single professionals congregated. If Ryan noticed that his portion of the rent was significantly less than half (or, like, less than a third), he very magnanimously refused to acknowledge it. He’d grown accustomed to Spencer taking care of him; it didn’t even offend his pride anymore to accept the help. 

Then Ryan said, “I’m think I’m going to apply for the joint master’s and doctorate programme,” and Spencer just stared at him in disbelief. Because. “That way I can finish them both in three years.” 

“In Creative Writing?” Spencer said. “So you can be _Doctor_ Ross, the drive-through operator?” 

Ryan threw a grape at him and sipped daintily of his tea. “There are plenty of things I can do with my Ph.D.” 

“Like what, teach?” Spencer asked. “You hate to teach. No one would hire you. You’re like…Snape. You terrify the freshman.” 

“If they can’t distinguish between their as possessive, they’re as a contraction of they are, and there as a location, then I have no pity. They _deserve_ to be terrified, Spence. I’m doing them a favour!” 

When he was twenty-five, George Ryan Ross earned his master’s and doctorate simultaneously, and proceeded to turn down every offer to teach at university he was offered. Spencer sputtered and protested and turned red in the face and Ryan said, plaintively, “I want to be a _poet_ , Spencer.” 

Spencer didn’t even bother to talk about in the meantime. Ryan’s brain didn’t work like that. And it wasn’t that Spencer didn’t totally believe in Ryan. His stuff was amazing, beautiful. It really moved Spencer, made him hear music. Ryan had even had a lot of it published in magazines and anthologies. 

Spencer loved those times, when Ryan’s oppressive negativity and sadness lifted with the arrival of a letter of acceptance and a check. Still, it wasn’t fame, and it wasn’t consistent, and it wasn’t a realistic way to live. And Spencer didn’t mind caring for Ryan, but he knew that Ryan wanted to be self-sufficient. 

Fall quarter began, and having turned down every offer, and still owing Spencer three months’ back rent (which, if he ever did pay, would find its way back into Ryan’s bank account, anyway), Ryan broke down and began applying for jobs. 

It wasn’t the jet-setting life of a critically acclaimed and world-renowned poet that Ryan had dreamed of, but it wasn’t McDonald’s either, thank you very much, Spencer Smith. It was a position as night receptionist for a local radio station. They played music Ryan liked, and there wasn’t a lot to do overnight except patch the occasional call, which meant he had plenty of time to read and write, and he didn’t have to deal with very many people, especially not freshman English students. 

Spencer knew it wasn’t a permanent fix. He knew Ryan wouldn’t be content to work at some dead-end job, lost and obscure. At night Ryan brought home the new singles and demos the station got, and would put on his headphones and listen with his eyes closed and a look of naked longing on his face. It made Spencer’s chest ache, because he didn’t know how long he could keep holding Ryan together. He didn’t know if he was enough to keep Ryan together. 

Spencer was pretty damned sure that Ryan had some sort of seasonal depression going on. It hadn’t been so noticeable in Vegas, where winter dropped maybe required a light jacket in December and January. Their first year in New York, towards the middle of fall semester, Spencer got his first glimmer of it. 

When the days grew short and a sharp chill permeated the air, Ryan just withdrew even further. The shawls and sweaters and gloves that everyone else wore for protection against the elements, Ryan used as some sort of armour against emotions. 

They were still poor students then (Ryan was still essentially a poor student now, but), and Spencer’s parents had offered to fly them home for the holidays. At that point Ryan had still been uncomfortable with the charity. There was no way that Spencer would have left Ryan by himself that winter, so instead, he’d borrowed his roommate’s Oldsmobile and they’d driven down the coast until they’d reached Georgia. 

They had saved their money for gas and food, so they’d found an abandoned stretch of beach where they could park the car and sleep at nights. It was the first time he’d seen Ryan smile in months, all the tension just melting from his shoulders. They’d goofed off around on the beach or bummed around the boardwalk during the days. At night they’d sit in the open hatchback and Ryan would play his guitar and sing bits and pieces of things he’d made up. 

Since then, it had become tradition. When the weather turned from crisp to bitingly cold, they left the city for a week. Road trips during their undergrad, and then when Spencer had started making money and become a bit more insistent, flights back to Vegas. Last year, Spencer had casually slipped the plane tickets into Ryan’s bag and waited for the worst. 

But when Ryan was searching for his keys later and stumbled upon them, his eyes had just got really wide and his mouth had dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise. He hadn’t fought it at all. And so they had a nice apartment and Spencer had upgraded his wardrobe, but he didn’t have a whole lot of other expenses, and he wanted to go to Hawaii, anyway. 

Spencer hadn’t decided where their trip would be this year. He was tempted by the Mediterranean, but he wasn’t sure that Ryan’s pointed ignorance of cost would extend that far. But it was only the end of October and he hadn’t thought Ryan was so desperate as to make his own plans for them. It was a mistake, Spencer knew, when he came in the front door and Ryan flashed a pair of tickets at him. 

“What did you do?” Spencer asked warily, before he’d even set down his bag and taken off his coat. 

“I told you I wasn’t going to let you buy us another trip to Hawaii,” Ryan said. 

“I can _afford_ it—” Spencer began. 

“And I can afford _this_ ,” Ryan interrupted. He waved the tickets in Spencer’s face, and Spencer caught sight of their destination.

“The _Bahamas_.” Spencer alternated between staring at the tickets and at Ryan, disbelieving. 

“But it’s okay,” Ryan assured him, in a calm voice. “The station has this give-away going on, and the company sponsoring it extended this offer to all the employees. 9 days and 10 nights, plus airfare for two, for three-hundred dollars.” 

Spencer just stared. “And the catch?” Ryan pulled his blank face, but Spencer was totally not buying it. He arched a brow and Ryan scowled.

“Okay, so, we have to attend a meeting one afternoon. And it’s supposed to be for couples.” 

“Ryan. Did you sign us up as a gay couple for a timeshare sales week?” Spencer asked evenly. 

“There’s no obligation to buy anything,” Ryan said. 

It was ridiculous, and Spencer knew there was no fighting it. Ryan was a stubborn bitch and he’d already paid for it. It was a horrible idea. Everyone knew what a scam these sort of things were, but at least if he went along he could make sure that Ryan didn’t actually _buy_ one of the things. 

“And, not so much a _gay_ couple,” Ryan said. Spencer gave him a dangerous look, but Ryan didn’t even blink. 

So they went on vacation. 

Spencer wanted to be annoyed, he really did. But it was difficult when Ryan was so ridiculously happy. He’d shed most of his layers and was running around the beach in what Spencer suspected was an outfit cunningly crafted of shimmering, shear scarves. Even though he kept referring to Spencer by increasingly absurd pet names, Spencer didn’t say anything. 

Ryan wasn’t fooling anyone, anyway. Everybody knew they were both men. Their tour guide and several of the middle-aged housewives along for the tour kept cooing over how cute they were. But Ryan was having fun fucking with Spencer and Spencer was having fun watching Ryan having fun. 

Though he’d been resigned to the trip from the beginning—he couldn’t let Ryan go on his own; this was the guy who’d been bullied into buying rhinestone hair clips from the kiosk in the mall, Spencer wasn’t going to trust him alone with a bunch of aggressive salesmen trying to unload condos—it turned out to be pretty decent. 

They had their seminar on the third day of the trip. No matter how wide-eyed and believing Ryan got, Spencer kept his lips pursed and his brow arched. When the guy got finished with his spiel, Ryan opened his mouth to say something and Spencer stepped hard on his toe. He said, “Thank you, but we’re really not interested right now,” and dragged a sputtering Ryan off with him. 

Ryan eyed him balefully. “That guy’s gonna think I’m totally pussy whipped.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “If that guy thinks one of has a pussy, _it’s you_.” 

Ryan flipped him off and Spencer punched Ryan in the arm. Over the traded insults that followed, Spencer heard a couple of the housewives whisper something about youthful displays of affection. Spencer had to hide his face in Ryan’s shoulder, he laughed so hard. Ryan just stared at him in bewilderment, and put an arm around his waist to steer him. It wasn’t any wonder people thought they were a couple, Spencer mused. 

One of the guys involved with the programme was a sort of crazy dude named Pete. He was closer to Ryan and Spencer’s age than to any of the other guests, and after the first night, he’d taken it as his duty to make sure Ryan and Spencer were entertained. They didn’t mind; Pete knew all the best local spots, and while he was crazy, it was in a fun, contagious sort of way. 

Though they started in different places each night, they kept ending them in the same place. It was called The Littlest Mermaid and it was Pete’s favourite club, with live music and awesome djs and themed parties most nights. It was always crowded, but never so much that it was uncomfortable, and there was always a table saved for them in the balcony because “the owner’s a friend,” Pete had said. 

“How did you end up here?” Ryan asked, awed, when they’d ended up at the Mermaid again. The music was loud and the lights alternately dim and blindingly bright. “I mean, this poetry is _really good_ ,” gesturing to the notebook Pete had given him to read earlier in the evening. “And you’re working selling timeshares?” 

“Yeah,” Spencer said dryly. “Really strange. Sort of like you working as a receptionist at a radio station,” he muttered. Ryan shot him a glare. 

Pete shrugged easily, taking a long drink. That was another great part of hanging out with Pete. The bartenders at the Mermaid—all three they’d met named Alex—made their drinks strong and refused to let Ryan and Spencer pay. 

“It’s something to do,” Pete said. “It passes the time. I don’t see myself doing it forever.” He got this look in his eye then, like he did sometimes. Spencer couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it made him uneasy. 

“Besides, you might say that working selling timeshares is my destiny,” Pete added. His goofy smile was back. “You don’t fuck with destiny, yo.” 

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s destiny to sell timeshares, Pete.” 

“Oh. You’d be surprised,” Pete said loftily, and then dragged them off to the dance floor. 

Spencer wasn’t usually big on dancing. He liked to hang out by the bar and enjoy the music and maybe some conversation. But Ryan and Pete were persuasive, and it was fun, letting go and dancing with them, knowing they weren’t rating his skill and using it as a basis for how he might perform elsewhere. Also, the music was really fucking awesome. 

“Travie’s spinning tonight,” Pete said, like he’d read Spencer’s mind. “Wait ‘til you guys meet him.” Pete said that about all his friends, wait until Spence and Ryan met them. Pete had this way of talking, like his friends were going to be theirs, too, no question. 

It made Spencer a little sad to think he probably wouldn’t get a chance to meet all of them in the short time they had in the Bahamas, and it would matter anyway, because it wasn’t like you could daytrip from New York to the Caribbean. 

The crowd started thinning at four in the morning, and by six Travis had come down from the booth. He hooked his IPod up behind the bar and let Spencer and Ryan pick whatever they wanted. Pete had been right about Travis, too. He’d hit it off with Spencer and Ryan right away, and given them a dime bag ‘on the house.’ 

“Have they met B&J yet?” Travis asked, passing around the third joint of the night. His shit was _really_ nice. Spencer supposed that was at least in part due to living in the Bahamas. It was like, a rule. 

“Are you hitting on us?” Ryan asked, tone belligerent. He was always totally ineffectually quarrelsome when drunk or high. That, or he’d get really quiet and just stare at the backs of his hands for hours on end. “Because we’re not _gay_.” 

Travis and Pete shared a knowing smirk. “I’ve heard that before,” Travis said. “B _and_ J,” Pete repeated. “And no. They’re out of town.” His smile turned a little dangerous and his tone became pointed when he directed, towards Travis, “ _on business_.” 

“Whatever, yo,” Travis said, holding up his hands. His eyes were big and sleepy. He reminded Spencer of a puppy dog. 

“Oh my god, I need to go sleep,” Spencer muttered. 

Ryan half-dragged Spencer back to their hotel and flung him on the bed unceremoniously. At least he pulled off Spencer’s shoes before crawling into bed alongside him. He laid an arm over Spencer’s waist and buried his face in Spencer’s shoulder. His breath was warm on Spencer’s neck. 

“I don’t ever wanna go home,” Ryan said. 

Spencer hummed his agreement. 

When they woke up in the early afternoon of the fourth day, Ryan announced his intentions to rent a boat. Spencer only saw this ending in disaster. One time Spencer’s parents had taken them on a vacation to a lake in Oregon. Ryan had been banned from using the rowboats after flipping one and almost drowning the first day. It went without saying that he wasn’t even allowed to try with the sailboat. 

“There’s this awesome place right down on the beach, Pete said. They’re cheap and the owners are apparently pretty cool,” Ryan assured Spencer, like that would somehow make all of this a _better_ idea. Unless the owners were going to be the ones piloting the boat, Spencer didn’t think so. 

The place was clear even from the distance—wedged between a touristy memorabilia shop and a surfboard place, the boat rental place stuck out like a sore thumb. The front façade was done up like a pirate ship of old and the sign out front was hand painted and aged from wind and water. “ _Awesome_ ,” Ryan said emphatically. 

Spencer went in expecting the worst. He was a little distracted by the guy loitering in the waiting room—he was in frayed jeans and flip-flops and the hood of his black hoodie was drawn but Spencer could make out a scruffy looking beard and brown hair. He had a sort of shifty look to him, standing in the corner and scuffing his shoes on the floor.

The receptionist was just sort of...indolently lounging at the front desk. The phone was ringing and the guy wasn’t making any move to answer it. “Um,” Spencer said. 

The guy looked up, blinking slowly at them from behind shaggy hair. Spencer couldn’t really see his features very clearly. “We’re here to rent a boat,” Ryan said. 

The phone kept ringing. The guy didn’t say anything. “Er. Are you going to answer that?” Spencer prompted. 

“No,” the guy said. “You can, if you want to.” He shrugged. He looked really fucking high, and just plain out of it. 

“Bill!” A woman came out of the back—pretty with bright blonde hair spilling down her back and a flow-y summer dress. “I’m sorry,” she said to Spencer and Ryan, and then added, words pointed, “Bill’s probably the worst secretary in the history of. Ever. He doesn’t even answer the phone about sixty percent of the time, and when he does, his conversations are remarkably useless. Also, he refuses to do filing.” 

Ryan gave Spencer a look that Spencer was sure was a reflection of his own. But Spencer wasn’t going to judge. When Ryan got excited, as rare a thing as that was, he had a tendency to babble, too. Besides, her account seemed pretty accurate. All of that, and also, apparently, he let bums wander around, Spencer thought, with another wary glance at hoodie guy. 

“We wanted to rent a boat,” Spencer said slowly. 

“Of course you did,” Bill said back, smirking. There was something arrogant about his tone that made Spencer sort of want to hit him. 

The woman smacked Bill on the back of the head so hard it made Spencer cringe in sympathy. “You boys got here just in time,” she said. “We’ve only got one boat left this morning. It’s a little big for just two, though. Are you sure you can pilot it by yourselves?” She sounded honestly concerned, which Spencer thought was sweet. 

“We’ll be fine,” Ryan said quickly, and his eyes dared Spencer to argue. 

“The least I can do is give you a discount on it,” she said. “I wouldn’t feel right, charging two people the same price I would a group of ten.” 

Spencer felt maybe he should point it that isn’t how it worked, but she hurried off into her office, muttering about keys and paperwork. Spencer looked around the suddenly much more silent office. Bill stared back at him blankly. The hoodie guy was watching them shiftily from under his hood. Spencer could just see a lot of facial hair and dark eyes. 

The front door swung open and hit against the wall with a resounding bang. “Fucking _tourists_!” the man shouted. He looked big and hulking at first glance, but then Spencer realised it was more about the clothing he was wearing—a huge leather coat over dark layers—underneath it all, he looked smaller than Spencer. 

“Yeah, yeah, Gee,” Bill said, and rolled his eyes. 

“Where’s Greta?” ‘Gee’ demanded. Bill flicked a casual wrist towards the open office door and Gee stormed through it. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him. 

“Gerard,” Spencer heard Greta say, in a voice one might usually reserve for a small child. 

“I can’t _do it_ ,” Gerard said back. “They’re questioning my artistic integrity.” 

Spencer could almost see Greta sighing. “You need to stop taking this so personally,” she said. 

“Stop taking it personally?” Gerard said back, voice incredulous. “Those are my _personal logs_. How am I supposed to take it any other way? Gabriel makes his drug runs down to Eleuthera and he’s everyone’s hero and I do my little part to help preserve history and I get accused of being crazy. Or lying.” 

“Gerard,” Greta began. 

“No. I’ve had enough!” Gerard said. “I’m not taking those fuckers out tonight. I’m going to the Mermaid, and you can tell Bren—” there was a sound like something had just muffled Gerard’s speech followed by the sound of someone stumbling against the wall. 

“Should we come back later?” Spencer asked Bill, not bothering to hide his annoyance. 

Bill shrugged. “It shouldn’t take very long. They have this same argument every week. About his _logs_.” He said the word with accompanying eye roll and wiggly fingers, as if that conveyed something. 

There came low words, hissed too quietly to be understood, and then Gerard came storming back out. He called over his shoulder, “whatever.” He turned his glare on Spencer and Ryan, like this was somehow their fault. “I’m going to go find Frankie,” he said to them. 

Ryan watched him go in wide-eyed horror. Greta came out fast on his heels. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Sometimes Gee can get a little…”

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. “I mean, who wears a jacket like that in the middle of the Bahamas?” 

Ryan muttered something under his breath about how Spencer had no appreciation for fashion, nor any flair for dramatics. Spencer thought it was pretty decent of himself that he managed to bite back a comment about how any one of Ryan’s scarves contained enough dramatic flair for ten men. 

“Well, we have a few historical pirate tours, and Gee captains one of the ships—takes people out, tells stories, improvs, you know,” Greta explained. “So he dresses up for them.” She bit her lip like she felt she’d somehow slighted Gerard and Spencer felt just slightly bad for saying anything. 

“Anyway, he’s really awesome, and he has all these amazing logs he keeps. He recreated them with a bit of artistic flair, but they’re entirely historically accurate…but when people who think they’re history buffs argue with him, he gets a little defensive,” she said. 

Ryan perked up at the mention of artistically historically accurate pirate ship logs, and when he expressed his interest, Greta pulled a couple from the office. They were really _neat_ , Spencer had to admit—lots of panelled artwork and song lyrics and paintings depicting the events of the day. But while they were really aesthetically pleasing, Spencer didn’t see how they could be _historically accurate_. Some of the events portrayed were just a little too far-fetched. He refrained from saying as much. 

Bum guy shifted over to look at the book, angling his body and face away from them. Then he cleared his throat pointedly and Greta jumped. “OH! But you’re not here for this,” she said hastily, and closed the books, sweeping them to her chest. “Let me get you guys set up on your boat!” 

It went smoothly, until it didn’t. Ryan’s scarves got caught in the steering wheel, which wasn’t so much dangerous as potentially embarrassing. But once they got past the other casual sailors, swimmers and surfers and into the open sea, it was alright. 

They dropped anchor with no land in sight. It gave Spencer the feeling that he and Ryan were the only two people in the world, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was peaceful, really. They lathered each other in a fresh coat of sunscreen, took a dip in the ocean and ate the lunch the picnic Ryan had packed. 

“It’s kind of awesome,” Spencer said. 

Ryan knocked their shoulders together playfully. “You always doubt me, Spencer Smith,” Ryan teased. “You should just learn by now that I win at everything.” 

Such a bold proclamation necessarily led to Spencer proving that Ryan did not, in fact, win at everything. Their game of full-body thumb war soon devolved into wrestling, which turned into a ship-wide battle, and it wasn’t until the first clap of thunder that either of them even realised how dark the day had suddenly become. 

“Um,” Ryan said. He had this way of sounding entirely innocent that Spencer stopped buying, like, ten years ago. “Maybe we should head back.” 

“Yeah,” Spencer snapped, and then the sky opened on them. 

Ryan pulled anchor while Spencer called in to let Greta known of the situation. Greta sounded…off, somehow. Her voice was too bright, too forced. “Everything’s fine,” she said, and Spencer wasn’t very reassured. “It’s probably best if you just wait it out where you are.” 

“Stay _here_?” Ryan demanded, when Spencer told him. The boat rocked dangerously and a wave crested over the side, almost knocking them both off their feet. 

“Maybe we should wait in the cabin,” Spencer suggested. 

“And then the boat sinks and the water pressure on the door traps us and water slowly trickles beneath the frame and we don’t know whether the room will fill with water, or run out of oxygen first, but either way we’re left with a slow, painful death? No thanks,” Ryan said, and managed to look prim, arms crossed over his chest, even with his hair and scarves plastered to his skin from rainwater. 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something about Ryan’s histrionics, but instead he got a mouthful of seawater. “Fuck this noise,” he said, salt bitter on his tongue, stinging his eyes and throat. “We’re going back.” 

“Greta,” he called, “what does the weather report say? Because I’m not sure how much longer we can manage just _waiting this out_.” It was growing darker by the second, almost night black around them and the rain was so thick he couldn’t see anything beyond the ship, not even the water of the ocean.

“This isn’t _right_ ,” he heard Greta hiss and someone growled something Spencer didn’t understand. “Pete, I’m _not_ …I can’t, this is just…”

Pete’s voice cut through the static-y call, voice as cheerful as ever. “It’s fine, Spence,” Pete said. “I wouldn’t steer you boys wrong.” 

The transmission cut out before Spencer could argue, but it didn’t matter. He liked Pete, and all, but that didn’t mean he was just going to sit still in the middle of a fucking hurricane or something. 

The ship lurched hard to bow, knocking Spencer against the control panel. Ryan gave a cry of distress and Spencer paused in his preparations to return to the dock. He hurried up the steps to the deck, but Ryan wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

“Ryan?” he called, and there was no answer. Ryan was an okay swimmer at best, but in a storm like this, he’d be dead. Spencer held fast to the railing and looked over into the turbulent water, but there was no sign. 

Another wave sank over the edge of the boat, sending Spencer back down the stairs. He didn’t even have a chance to struggle to his feet before yet another wave crashed over him. His head didn’t break the surface at once, and when it did, he barely got a lungful of air before he was submerged again. 

Spencer got to his knees and managed to drag himself back to the deck, fingers scrambling for any handhold on the wall and floor. The sky had gone almost completely dark and Spencer couldn’t see very well, but he thought he may have heard Ryan say his name. Then the boat tilted sharply and Spencer’s head hit the deck, hard, and everything went black. 

Ryan had opened the fucking blinds again. It wasn’t that Spencer minded when Ryan snuck into Spencer’s bed, but it was really annoying when Spencer finally had a chance to sleep in and he was woken at sunrise by the glare of light on his face. 

Spencer rolled to his right and the light got brighter. Spencer frowned and noticed several things at once: he was lying on a hard wooden surface, he was uncomfortably hot, and the ground was moving. 

Ryan groaned in pain and Spencer’s eyes snapped open. The ship was mostly in one piece, but there were cracks and parts where the paint was gone, exposing wood. Ryan was buried under one of the sails, shredded and piled on the deck. 

Spencer scrambled to his feet and staggered to Ryan’s side. The bench wasn’t very heavy, but it had Ryan at a weird angle. Spencer lifted it off, his back screaming in protest when he bent over.

“Next time you try something like this, I’m going to punch you,” Spencer warned him. 

Ryan put a hand to his head and pouted at Spencer. “It isn’t my fault. That storm came out of nowhere. Pete and that Bill guy at the rental place both said it was supposed to be clear out today.” 

Spencer still felt a little dizzy as he made his way to the control board. He kept his hand on the wall to stay steady. “Yeah, well, that guy at the rental place was fucking high. And Pete’s a spaz.” 

Spencer tried the radio first, announcing their call and location. The only response was silence. Not even a crackle of static. He tried again and a third time with the same result. 

“Let me see that!” Ryan jerked on the mic and Spencer let him have it. He focussed his attention on the array of buttons on the board. None of them were lit, which gave Spencer a sinking feeling in his stomach. He pushed a few anyway, but nothing happened. 

“Shit,” Ryan said. He threw the mic aside. “Fuck.” He stormed up the steps, Spencer on his heels.

“Don’t freak,” Spencer said. He put a hand on Ryan’s back. “We’re pretty much in the same place we were before. They got our last distress call before the storm. They’ll find us.” Ryan must have heard Spencer’s sincerity, because he relaxed a little. Then, as if conjured by Spencer’s word a ship appeared on the horizon. For a moment it was but a speck in the distance, but when he could make out the details, it looked like something straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean—mermaid over the bow, unfamiliar colours flapping in the wind. The sails were caught on a strong breeze, drawing them close, fast.

“It must be one of those tours Greta was talking about,” Ryan said. “Maybe they sent someone out after us.” They ran to stern, waving their hands frantically, as if that would somehow make them more noticeable than their huge boat. The ship came up along portside, close enough that Spencer could make out the features on the faces of the crew hanging over the railing of the deck. “Good thing you found us,” Spencer shouted. “I was worried we’d be waiting a while.” Ryan looked so completely done in by their costumes that Spencer half feared what new crazy fashion he’d adopt when they got home. 

A grumble went through the crowd. Spencer didn’t catch all of it, but he heard the words _British, weapons,_ and _spies_. No one sounded very happy about any of it. 

“Could you give us a tow back to the docks?” Spencer asked. 

One of the men held out a pistol, aimed at Spencer’s chest. “Get your hands up. Both ‘a you. I’ll shoot a woman just as soon as a man.” 

Ryan let out a sharp burst of laughter. “He was talking about you,” Spencer hissed at him. 

“Whatever,” Ryan drawled. “Look, guys, we appreciate the authenticity of your…re-enactment, but we’d really just like to get back to our hotel.” 

The pistol went off with a deafening crack and the wood of the deck by Spencer’s foot splintered. “What the fuck?” Spencer shouted. 

“Next one goes through your knee. After that, I stop being nice. Hands in the air.” 

“Frank. What have we said about you maiming people while you’re on our ship?” The man who spoke had an easy, lazy look about him. He was wearing, Spencer was convinced, Jack Sparrow’s costume. Right down to the hat. Thankfully, his facial hair lacked the full beard and beaded accents. He looked, Spencer thought distantly, like a man off a cover of one of his mother’s romance novels. 

‘Frank’ looked crushed at the prohibition on violence and trounced off. 

“Forgive our rudeness,” the newcomer said, smiling warmly at them. “But we’re going to have to board your vessel.” 

Ryan, even with his hands in the air, managed to look singularly unimpressed. “What. The fuck. Is going on?” Ryan demanded, from the corner of his mouth. 

A board was extended between their ships and the man strolled down it. “Where is the rest of your crew?” he asked. 

Spencer looked at Ryan and saw in his eyes what Spencer was already thinking. They both shut their mouths tight. 

“Look,” the guy said easily, “no one’s going to hurt you. Frank’s just a little antsy. But you have to understand with things being the way they are, we can’t just leave you here.” 

Spencer kept his lips sealed, even though there were a few questions he really wanted to ask. 

“Okay. Well, let’s start this way. I’m Jonathan, but seeing as how you’re our captives, you can call me Jon. I’d really like it if we could be civil about this, if that’s possible.” 

Ryan rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. Spencer sighed. “Look, we’ll go along without your stupid re-enactment, but when we get back to dock, I’m filing a complaint.” 

Jon gave a sweeping bow. “As it pleases you, sir. Now, the rest of your crew?” 

“We’re it,” Spencer said. 

Jon gave him a sly smile that, inexplicably, made Spencer’s stomach flip. He was cute, sure, but he was also a crazy asshole. “The two of you pilot this ship yourselves?” 

“Not so much pilot,” Spencer muttered at Ryan, who not so subtly flipped him off. 

“Blow me,” Ryan said. 

Jon gave them an amused look. “Adam, Butcher, search their ship,” he called, without taking his eyes off Spencer. “I’ll show our guests to the Captain.” He gestured to the plank between the ships. 

Spencer looked at Ryan again, who looked almost angry enough to kill with his glare. _When we get back_ , Spencer urged with his eyes, and Ryan conceded, shoulders slumping. 

“Alright,” Spencer said. He helped Ryan climb up the side of the ship and followed, arms out for balance. A big, warm hand steadied Spencer’s hip when he wobbled and it made him jump and almost topple off the side. Jon’s arms went all the way around Spencer’s waist. For a second, Spencer was held steady against a solid body. 

“Careful,” Jon whispered in Spencer’s ear. He was so close his beard scraped Spence’s throat as he spoke. “If you fall in and drown, who’s going to report us?” 

Spencer pushed away as soon as they were on board. Jon looked amused. Spencer sort of wished he wasn’t so charming or good-looking. It made Spencer want to punch Jon in his ridiculously docile face. 

Jon led them across the deck, passing as they went almost a dozen men similarly dressed. They were engaged in various activities, some cleaning, some making repairs, a few sitting on the upper deck cleaning sword and guns. 

The doors of the captain’s cabin were open, and Jon went through them and pushed open the inner doors without knocking. 

“Jonny!” a cheerful, bright voice called. 

“Captain,” Jon said. His tone was indulgent. “I’ve brought you the crew of the enemy ship.” 

The captain came into view from behind a large chest. He looked young to be a captain, maybe twenty, with large eyes and an unguarded smile. He was dressed in a ruffled shirt and plain coat, left open over tight fitted breeches and leather boots that came just below his knees. It was a good look on him, and an odd contrast to Jon’s dress. “You always bring me the best presents,” the captain said, and gave Ryan a sly look. 

“I count on my captain’s generosity,” Jon said. “And his willingness to share.” 

The captain gave a knowing wink to Jon. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I apologise for our imposition. I am Captain Uriel, but you may call me Brendon.” Polite, these weirdos. Except for the Frank guy with the firing of the gun and all.

“Yeah, and you can suck my cock,” Ryan said dully. 

Brendon either didn’t hear or chose to ignore that comment. “I promise that we shall endeavour to do all that is within our power to make your stay behind the sea is as pleasant as possible.” 

“Our stay behind the sea?” Spencer repeated dully. Ryan made a strange sucking, choking noise beside him. 

“Yes,” Brendon said, and smiled brilliantly. He looked even younger when he smiled like that. “It’s the name of our ship. _Behind the Sea_.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “That’s just stupid,” he said. “Your ship is _on_ the sea, not _behind_ it. God. Learn your prepositions.” It occurred to Spencer, after the words left his mouth, that he’d been spending too much time listening to Ryan bitch about his students. 

“But...but!” Ryan sputtered ineffectually for a minute and finally spat out, “but that’s my phrase. I used that. In my poetry!” 

“Yeah,” Spencer said quickly, going into damage control mode, “but it makes sense in your poetry. As like…a literary device, or something. But not so much on a seafaring vessel.” 

Ryan gave Spencer an _I’ll deal with you later_ glare and then turned back to Brendon. “This is plagiarism.” 

Spencer felt they were getting off track, which tended to happen when someone got Ryan started on plagiarism. “You never even published that poem, Ryan,” Spencer muttered, and Ryan gave him a wounded, betrayed look. 

Brendon cleared his throat and Spencer caught the tail end of a look of shared confusion between Brendon and Jon. “I am sorry to have to detain you, but I’m afraid we are unfamiliar with this make of ship you sail.” 

Spencer snorted. “Let me guess,” he drawled, “it’s way more advanced than anything else on the sea, blah, blah, blah. Can we cut the bullshit? We’re _not_ going to play your game. You’re wasting your time.” 

Jon and Brendon shared another look, this time devoid of amusement. Spencer wondered, vaguely, if they’d been friends as long as he and Ryan had been; if they could read each other’s expressions as easily. 

“Is that so?” Brendon asked. He sounded too casual. There was something calculating about it. He moved to his desk, gesturing that they be seated before it. “And what, might I ask, were you doing _here_ in your most advanced ship?” 

Ryan set his jaw again and glared pointedly at Spencer, a clear sign of his unwillingness to share any further. Spencer bit his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave Brendon his fiercest glare, which had sent weaker men scampering. Brendon blinked as if startled by it. 

“We would prefer to think you harmless,” Brendon said slowly, almost cautiously. “But you really should cooperate.” 

“Yes, yes, you’re _friendly_ pirates who shoot holes in people’s ships and drag them off at gunpoint,” Ryan muttered. 

Jon cringed and Brendon began rummaging through the top drawer of his desk. “Really, Frank wouldn’t shoot you,” Jon said. “He’s just a little cranky right now.” Brendon nodded sagely. “He gets that way sometimes when he’s away from…” he paused, brows drawn together and shook his head. “At any rate, we aren’t pirates,” he said. He presented a roll of papers with a flourish. 

Spencer wrapped his fingers around his biceps, but Ryan leaned closer to read. A knock came on the door and Frank entered without waiting for a response. 

“There’s no one else on the ship,” Frank said. “The Butcher and Adam are bringing aboard some of the foreign objects we found.” He dumped Spencer’s bag and Ryan’s backpack on Brendon’s desk. 

“There were no rifles or cannons,” Frank continued, “but they have some suspicious items that were too big to be moved. You should come see for yourself.” 

“Look, you can’t do this,” Spencer blurted. He grabbed the strap of his bag and jerked it close. Frank’s fingers twitched near his gun. “You can’t just go through our things.” 

Frank didn’t look impressed, but Spencer refused to be intimidated. The guy was like, half Spencer’s size and despite his numerous tattoos and dark glower, he looked about as dangerous as a puppy. Except for the gun thing. 

Ryan looked up from the papers. “Is this…Spencer…” he paused and held the paper out for Spencer to read. It looked like something in a museum, crinkly, yellowing paper written on by quill. It proclaimed itself to be a Letter of Marque issued by the State of Connecticut, granting the _Behind the Sea_ permission to search, seize and destroy any enemy vessels. 

“You’ll have to forgive the doodles,” Brendon said, in a hassled, amused way. 

Spencer hadn’t noticed them until Brendon said anything, but now he saw the sprawling, scrolling vines and delicate flowers woven around the margins of the paper. They resembled a lot the ones they’d seen…

“Those are _Gerard’s_ ,” Ryan said. “Look, we know Gerard, okay, so can you just give the game a rest and take us back to dock?” 

Frank made a strange noise and squeezed his fist hard near his gun. Brendon’s eyes went wide, and Jon laid a restraining hand on Frank’s shoulder. “You know Gerard?” Brendon asked. 

“Well, not _know_ him,” Ryan hedged. “We met him this morning, at Greta’s shop.” 

“You met him this morning?” Jon said calmly. “With Greta?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Ryan said, exasperated. 

All three of their captors were exchanging looks now. Frank let out a growl and produced a knife from nowhere. He was across the room in three steps and had the tip pressed against Ryan’s throat. Spencer jumped, but Jon calmly drew a gun and pointed it at him. 

Frank said, “Where do you have them, then?” 

“What are you talking about you _freaks_?” Ryan hissed. “I don’t have them anywhere! Gerard said he was going to have drinks at the Mermaid with someone.” 

“You aren’t very amusing,” Frank said, and pushed hard enough that Ryan made a high-pitched sound of pain and blood began to trickle down his neck. 

“Frank!” Brendon said sharply, and stood. Frank gave up on the pressure and Ryan clapped a hand over the spot. “Please,” Brendon said, pinning Spencer with a look. “If you know where Gerard is—”

Spencer interrupted. “We _told_ you,” he said. “He’s at a bar called The Littlest Mermaid, in Nassau.” He began fumbling through his bag and Jon cocked his gun. “I’m just getting my phone,” Spencer said, and pulled it out. “I’ve got Pete’s number in here. He was at the rental place. He could tell you himself.” 

“What is that?” Brendon asked, eyes lighting on the phone. 

Spencer didn’t even dignify that with a response. They could do their play-acting, and he would use it all to get them arrested as soon as they got off the damn ship. He flipped the phone open, but the display showed no bars. 

“Jon,” Brendon said, and tipped his head toward Spencer. He made grabby fingers and Jon crossed to Spencer, snapping the phone out of his hand. He passed it to Brendon and Spencer watched with pursed lips. Brendon’s frown grew more pronounced as he pressed buttons. 

“Please see our guests to the brig, Frank,” Brendon said slowly. “And Jon, have our course altered to take us to Nassau.” He lifted his head long enough to look at Ryan and Spencer. “Of course, as soon as we have spoken to Gerard and confirmed your story, we’ll be happy to release you.” 

“You have got to be fucking me,” Ryan squealed. His throat was red and sticky with blood, and this had officially stopped being funny ten minutes ago. 

Frank led them below deck, followed by curious stares all the way. He shoved them roughly into the barred off section at the back of the cargo hold and locked them in. “If you’ve done anything with Gerard, if you’ve hurt a single hair on his head, I’ll murder you,” Frank said. “And I’ll do it slowly. I’ll enjoy it.” 

“Fuck you,” Spencer said sharply, and waited until Frank had gone to turn his attention to Ryan. “Jesus Christ. Are you okay?” He pried Ryan’s hand from his neck to get a look. The cut wasn’t long, or very deep, but it was still seeping blood. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Ryan said weakly, and his knees buckled. Spencer caught him around the waist, helped him stay on his feet. Spencer helped him sit in the corner, propped against the hull. He unwound one of Ryan’s dozens of scarves and tied it around Ryan’s throat. 

“It’s okay,” Spencer said. As soon as they got to Nassau it would be, anyway. 

*

The journey didn’t take very long. Spencer and Ryan had only gone a few miles off the coast and the storm hadn’t taken them very much further. Without an engine, it was longer, but the _Behind the Sea_ made good time. Spencer could tell when they got near, heard the crew shouting orders back and forth, readying the ship to dock. 

They were brought up to the main deck by the man called the Butcher. He had a pleasant enough disposition and told them cheerfully, “I had to get you ‘cause the Captain was worried Frank might accidently stab you to death or something if he sent him after you.” 

“Gentlemen,” Jon greeted them. “We’ll be making land shortly.” 

“We are unfamiliar with this bar you named,” Brendon said. “If you will show us, I am certain we can have this whole misunderstanding cleared up quickly.” 

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “And you can explain to Greta why her ship is just hanging out in the middle of the ocean where anyone could take it.” 

Brendon and Jon shared another look. Spencer was starting to get a bit annoyed by it, really. “Greta will understand, I am sure,” Brendon said at length. “But even if she does not, to see her, and Pete, and Gerard safe, I am willing to risk her wrath.” 

Ryan huffed, but didn’t say anything else, turning to stare at the approaching harbour. “Spence,” he said. There was something funny in his voice. Spencer turned and saw Ryan’s gazed fixed straight ahead, expression fascinated. Spencer looked out. 

It took Spencer several moments to realise what he was seeing. The shallow waters around them were filled not with swimmers and surfers, but with other ships—lots of other ships, all similar in make to the one on which they sailed. The colours were mostly French, though several bore the American colonial flag. 

The shore was bustling with activity, low slung shops and businesses dotting the near distance, and where there should have been skyscrapers and bright lights in the far distance, there were only trees. “What is this?” Spencer asked. 

Brendon raised a brow. “This is Nassau,” he said. 

“Where’s the city?” Spencer said. 

“Spencer,” Ryan whispered. “Spencer, that _is the city_.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Spencer said, but his voice felt shaky. His whole chest felt shaky and empty and loose. “This is just some weird…Greta said there were other ships. This is just where they make berth.” 

“Spencer,” Ryan said. He suddenly broke away from the railing of the ship, running toward the Captain’s cabin. Jon made to drawn his gun but Brendon waved a dismissive hand and followed. Jon and Spencer were fast on their heels. 

Ryan was tearing through his book bag when they found him. He had his cell out and held it up. “There’s no fucking service, Spencer,” he said. 

Jon shifted uneasily, but Brendon shook his head. Spencer went to Ryan’s side. “Yeah, but we’ve been getting shitty reception since we got here,” Spencer reasoned. 

“You know all those philosophical talks we used to have?” Ryan asked. “All those hypothetical scenarios we came up with when we couldn’t sleep, and we said what the point would be. If something like this ever happened to us, what the point would be when we finally understood it? When we finally accepted what exactly had happened to us. I think this is the point, Spencer.” 

Ryan pointed towards the doors. “That’s Nassau. And if we’re here, and they don’t know where their Gerard and Pete and Greta are, maybe we switched, somehow.” 

“I think you hit your head harder than I originally thought,” Spencer said. 

“Spencer,” Ryan said, and lowered his voice. He angled their bodies away from Jon and Brendon. “You saw that paper. It had Gerard’s drawings on it, and Gerard isn’t here. That Frank guy is really worried about him.” 

“Or they’re all freaks who take role-playing a little too far,” Spencer said. 

Ryan sighed and gave Spencer a look like _Spencer_ was being the unreasonable one. “They’re going to look for Gerard in town, and they’re not going to find him there, and then they’re going to think we lied to them, and they’re going to think we’ve done something with him.” 

“No,” Spencer said. He didn’t say anything else, because he didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to say _no, you’re wrong, this is insane_ , but he couldn’t make his throat work. 

Frank stuck his head in the cabin and said, “We’re ready to go ashore, Captain.” 

Ryan gave Spencer a wild-eyed look. Spencer was the one who planned things, who kept Ryan out of trouble, whether it was keeping him from sleeping on the streets or keeping him from getting his throat slit by fucking pirates. 

“I’ll figure it out,” Spencer said, “but we have to get off this ship first.” 

*

* Nassau was a rush of sights and sounds and smells. Frank kept close by Ryan with his hand on his gun. Jon kept a hand on Spencer’s elbow, subtly guiding him. His grip was just tight enough to warn Spencer against trying to break free. Brendon led the way. 

“Where is this bar, the Mermaid, you said?” Brendon asked. “I don’t recall and bar by that name. You would think I would,” he added, to Jon, who smiled. 

“The captain has more than a passing interest in mermaids,” Jon explained to Spencer and Ryan, like they were his friends. His face was soft. 

“At least I’m not as bad as Pete,” Brendon protested. “Or Mikey and his unicorns,” Brendon protested. 

“Why are you talking about this in front of them?” Frank burst out. “They’ve done something with Gee. Do you think Mikey would appreciate you talking about this to them?” 

Spencer gave Ryan what he hoped was a meaningful look and Ryan nodded his head decisively. They hadn’t had a chance to speak without being overheard since Jon had crossed the Captain’s quarters and jerked them apart from one another. Spencer’s current plan involved getting deep into the heart of the city then accidentally ‘losing’ their captors. 

It wasn’t that Spencer actually _believed_ this was Nassau. There were whole cities in America that recreated different eras. It wasn’t so difficult to believe that there might be a port somewhere in the Bahamas that recreated a town from the height of piracy. He’d prefer to think that way that to consider the alternative. So, Spencer wasn’t so convinced that they were in very much danger, but he’d rather be away from the insane cosplayers than with them, so. Either way, escape plan. 

Ryan started putting on a bit of a show, talking loudly about the last time they’d been the Mermaid and looking this way and that as if he couldn’t remember where exactly it had been. “We were drunk at the time, you know,” Ryan explained. Spencer caught his eye and jerked his head subtly in the direction of a narrow, crowded street. 

“I think _that_ looks familiar, though,” Ryan said, pointing to a shop halfway down the same road. 

Jon was watching them both with narrowed eyes, so Spencer cleared his throat and put on his best bitchy, know-it-all face and nodded. “Yes, I think it’s just down that way, around the corner.” 

Brendon seemed content enough with that answer. He turned down the lane and there was an immediate crush of bodies on all sides. Ryan let himself be slowed by people elbowing by, until he was walking alongside Spencer. 

Spencer let his hand catch Ryan’s and Ryan twined their fingers together, squeezing like a lifeline. Spencer gave a tight squeeze back. He knew when he went Ryan would follow. 

“I really am sorry about all of this,” Brendon said, and looked over his shoulder at them. He sounded earnest and he looked so _sweet_ and young. If Ryan didn’t have a scarf around his neck to act as bandage for the wound Frank had given him, Spencer might have been less inclined to run. Brendon gave Ryan a strange little smile and then faced forward again. 

Jon’s arm stroked the inside of Spencer’s elbow, sending little sparking shivers through Spencer’s blood. Spencer looked down at him in surprise and Jon was smiling at the ground. 

“You’re protective of your friend,” Jon said. “Frank just cares a lot about Gerard. I mean, we all do. But they have a special friendship, you know, and I’m sure once we find Gerard, Frank will apologise. He won’t actually hurt you.” 

Spencer hummed blandly. He was watching all around them, waiting. Their moment came just as they were passing a mother with five children. The youngest was in her arms and the next youngest was dashing through the crowd, tripping people up. He got between Frank’s legs and the mother, chasing after him, pushed Jon aside with enough force to break his hold on Spencer’s arm. Spencer tugged and Ryan went. 

Ryan led them through the crowd. He was all skinny, bony limbs and he wasn’t afraid to use that advantage to elbow people out of his way. They kept their heads low. 

Jon gave a shout of surprise and they heard Brendon yell something, and Spencer knew they were being followed close behind. Spencer somehow felt Frank wouldn’t have any qualms about punching people to get them out of his way, but Ryan was quick. 

They broke out onto the main stretch and Spencer chanced a look behind him. Jon was still struggling with the mother in the distance, but Frank was determinedly pushing his way out, glare fixed on Spencer. Brendon wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Spencer pushed at Ryan’s shoulder and Ryan ran, fast. 

At the next intersection Ryan went the opposite way, and quickly began leading them through a maze of alleys and outdoor markets. Spencer didn’t really have time to take anything in. It was just a mess of colours and noises and really horrible smells—fish, of course, and urine, and too sweet, too strong perfume trying to cover body odour. There were chickens and goats and llamas, and people shouting prices at each other. Men in American army uniforms were everywhere, but they were mostly blurs of white and blue in Spencer’s eyes. 

Spencer didn’t know if the others were still after them. Maybe they’d gone the wrong way from the start, or maybe they were only a few twists and turns away. Ryan had got them pretty lost, but it was possible that Frank might stumble upon them by making his own series of random choices. Spencer wasn’t so worried about Brendon and Jon, but Frank had sort of crazy eyes. If Frank didn’t have a gun, Spencer could take him, but the guy didn’t seem to mind inflicting bodily damage. 

“We need to find a phone to borrow, or something,” Spencer said. 

Ryan jerked him into a shadowed door way suddenly and turned to face him. Ryan’s face was red and sweaty, but he looked as bland as ever. “There _aren’t_ any phones, Spencer.” 

“Well, not just hanging around, obviously. But they have to have some office where they orchestrate all this stuff,” Spencer reasoned. “You know, where they get the info about the tours, or order stuff, or…”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ryan said. “Spencer, we’re not at the fucking ren fair. We’re in, like, 1776.” 

Spencer was stubborn as fuck, and he was also not an insane person. He dragged them into the bar across the street. It was mostly empty, with a man at the bar, one in the back with a prostitute pressed against his side, and another passed out at a booth. The place smelled so strongly of beer, Spencer thought it might be possible to get drunk off the fumes. 

“I’m sorry to disturb the…er…atmosphere, or whatever,” Spencer said to the bartender, “but he we need to use a phone.” 

The bartender looked at him like he was speaking another language. “The telephone,” Spencer said slowly. “A cell phone. Anything, really. We just need to call some friends in Nassau.” 

“I got drinks,” the man said. “And I got fish. You want that, fine. I don’t got no fancy telafans. We don’t sell no fans.” Spencer stared blankly at him until Ryan grabbed his arm and started pulling towards the door. 

“Thanks,” Ryan said, grin tight and forced. “Spencer, we’re getting the fuck out of here,” he said, when they were back on the street. He looked cautiously this way and that, but there was no sign of their pursuers. 

Ryan led them steadily towards the shore, farther east than where they’d come in. When the thick crowds started to clear up near the beach, they could see the _Behind the Sea_ several hundred yards down the way. There were several docks between and ships large and small, from commercial vessels, to government vessels, and tiny fishing boats. 

“And what, precisely, is the plan now?” Spencer asked. They stood behind a small storage shack near a line of canoes. Spencer knew they stuck out like sore thumbs—Ryan dressed like something out of Arabian nights, and Spencer had on girl jeans and a pink and rhinestone tee. Even when everyone else _wasn’t_ in period garb, Spencer and Ryan stood out. 

“We get on a ship. One leaving, like soon,” Ryan said. Spencer was poised to argue, but Ryan hurried on. “Whatever, look, if you’re right, then a ship leaving here will probably be going back to Nassau, or another port. It gets us away from this place and the guys with weapons.” 

Spencer had to admit it was fairly good reasoning. For several long minutes they stood in their hiding space, watching the nearest ships. Spencer didn’t really know how one went about getting on board. They didn’t really have any cash on them. Spencer had his iPod in his pocket, but everything else valuable they owned was in their bags, in the _Behind the Sea_. Spencer was going to sue someone so hardcore when they got home. 

Men and women bustled up and down the shore, purposefully going about their business. Spencer hoped that watching them would give him some idea of what to do. His attention was stolen, though, by a loud procession of several men coming down the boardwalk. 

The man in the lead was tall and dark golden brown. He was strikingly good-looking at a distance and he totally rocked the casual period costume he wore. He even looked okay in the long, soft brown leather coat he had on. If he was handsome, the man alongside him was beautiful, with long curling hair tumbling around his shoulders and a fancy coat and britches outfit in powder blue. He was almost as tall as his companion, and the two of them were taking long strides, talking to one another and those behind them and gesturing wildly with their hands. 

“Does that guy sorta look like the guy from the rental place to you?” Spencer asked. 

Ryan made an exasperated sound. “The guy from the rental place isn’t in the 18th century,” he snapped. Then he actually looked, and frowned. “Well. And that guy has better hair. And isn’t so obviously high.” 

That was all true, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t just Bill in a wig, or something. And it had been long enough since they’d left that maybe he wasn’t high anymore. Spencer was willing to take the chance. “Bill!” he called, stepping out of the shadows and walking towards the men. 

Bill stopped and blinked at Spencer and then Ryan, who was trailing behind him. “There are tiny, bright people addressing me familiarly,” Bill said to the darker man. “Do I know them?” 

The taller man tipped his head to the side and squinted at them. “I like the little one’s dress,” he said. 

Bill nodded, as if that settled everything. “What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice was still slow and drawling, but it had a definite British accent that Spencer hadn’t noticed that morning. 

Ryan made a sharp noise and opened his mouth as if to tell them off, whether about his size or his scarf outfit. Spencer jabbed him with an elbow and spoke first. “Um. You do remember us, right? You met us this morning, with Greta, and Gee.” 

“Were Greta and Gee here this morning?” one of the other men behind them asked, in an Australian accent. 

“How drunk were we?” Bill muttered under his breath. 

“Fucking toasted, was more like it,” Ryan said. Bill gave him a look like he didn’t comprehend. 

“Sorry,” Bill said, and waved his hand. “Anyway…”

“Please understand that when William has overindulged in drink, he tends to make some rather…strange claims,” another man said. He looked like he might be part Asian and had a bland, slightly frustrated expression. “He can’t be held accountable for anything he might have said, including any aspersions he may have cast on your parentage, attempts made to seduce your wife or daughter, or any challenges made, pertaining to a duel—”

“No, look,” Spencer interrupted. “We’re just looking for a ride out of here.” 

“Oh.” Bill shrugged. “Well, Gabriel?” 

“I like the little one’s dress,” the tall man repeated. He sort of leered when he said it. Spencer not so subtly put himself between Ryan and Gabriel. Gabriel chuckled. “Oh. He’s adorable. You can keep them, I suppose,” he said to Bill. “But you have to remember to feed them and water them, and play with them. I can help.” Ryan rolled his eyes. 

“We don’t really have any way to pay you right now,” Spencer said. “We lost our ship outside of Nassau. It had all our possessions.” 

“Are you looking for work?” the Asian man asked. 

“Well, we had originally just planned on getting back to Nassau,” Ryan said. There was something cautious in his tone. Bill and Gabriel just stared at them, waiting. “But our friends who were supposed to meet us here are gone.” 

Spencer stared daggers, trying to figure what Ryan was up to. “No one stays long in Nassau these days,” Bill commented. “We’re heading to Port-de-Paix. You can work your way.” 

“Captain,” one of the men urged. “We really should be leaving soon.” 

“Yes,” Bill said. “Sisky can get so dramatic when we’re a few minutes late.” 

“To be fair,” the Australian one said, “that last time was more like two weeks late.” 

Bill pretended not to hear him. “Alright, tiny people…er, what are your names?” 

“Spencer, and this is Ryan.” Ryan smiled tightly. He got defensive about the tiny thing. 

“Spencer and Ryan,” Gabriel repeated. “Come aboard our fine vessel. I am Captain Gabriel Saporta. This is Tony, Michael, Mike, and Alexander.” Each of the men nodded their greeting. Spencer had thought that one of the men, Tony, had referred to Bill as the captain, but Spencer could have been confused, so he didn’t say anything. 

The ship was grand, far bigger than the _Behind the Sea_. The name painted on the side read _Black Mamba_. There were several winding snakes painted alongside it, and rather than a mermaid or skeleton, or whatever on the front, there was a giant cobra with its mouth open, fangs bared. “Fabulous, right?” Gabriel asked, tossing his arm over Spencer’s shoulder, and leading him up the ramp to the ship. 

There were several other sailors aboard. Gabriel took Spencer on a tour. Behind them, Spencer could hear William giving Ryan pretty much the same information. They met Ryland, who was hanging from the crow’s nest and who gave them an enthusiastic wave and grin. 

Nathaniel was making last minute preparations for the ship to depart. He was smaller than Spencer, which made Spencer feel better about the tiny comments. Joe was messing around with a fishing net on the upper deck, but he had an easy, ready grin. Andy, who was the cook and the quartermaster, showed them where they’d be sleeping. Then they were led back up to the captain’s quarters. Ryland called down to them on the way, saying that they were ready to embark, and Bill gave the order to go ahead. 

Gabriel pushed open the doors of the cabin. The room was hazy with smoke, and it wasn’t a familiar scent to Spencer, but he could guess that it wasn’t anything innocent. There was a woman seated at the desk, long legs propped up, encased in leather boots. “Boys,” she greeted lethargically. She either didn’t notice the newcomers, or didn’t care. 

“Did you bring us boy prostitutes,” a familiar voice asked from the shadowy recesses of the room. Spencer squinted and saw, reclining on a huge, curtained bed, Travis. 

“Travis, thank god,” Ryan said. 

Travis sat up and blinked at them several times. Spencer sort of loved his big, droopy puppy dog eyes. “Do I know them?” Travis asked. 

“Apparently we were really drunk,” Bill explained. 

Ryan made a noise of protest. “No, are you fucking me? The other night, at the club, with Pete!” 

“Pete was here, too?” Bill said wonderingly. 

“That ass,” Gabriel muttered. “He owes me two barrels of mead. And three grams of opium.” 

Ryan had that look in his eye again, like he was falling it love. Opium probably appealed to his sense of the dramatic. Ryan had a thing for tragic romances and tall, thin heroes wasting away in opium dens. He’d been reading too much Victorian era fiction, really. 

“Maybe we were wrong about the day,” Ryan said slowly. “You know, it all sort of blurs together.” 

Travis nodded his agreement. “Sorry little man.” Then he squinted again. “But seriously, was I paying you for sex when we met? Was Pete?” 

Bill smacked Travis hard on the back of the head and Gabriel leered at Spencer again. “We’re _not_ prostitutes,” Ryan said sharply. “And I already told you, we’re not gay.” 

“Gay?” Bill echoed delicately, looking around him as if expecting one of his friends to help him out. Victoria shrugged and tipped further back in her chair, ‘til her hair brushed the floor. Gabriel had wandered over to her and was messing around with something on the desk that Spencer couldn’t quite see. 

“You mean to say…” Bill went on, and his eyes widened. “You mean to say that you’re not…you’ve never…” Travis snickered and Bill dissolved into laughter. 

“It’s alright,” Victoria said, when Spencer was starting to get annoyed enough to snap. “I wouldn’t be gay around any of these heathens, either.” 

Gabriel tickled her side and she squirmed away, scowling at him and batting his hands. “That’s not what I’ve heard from Alexander. Or Ryland. Or Nathaniel,” he said. Then he turned his attention back to Spencer and Ryan. “But it is alright that you’re not.” 

“Yes. It’s almost sweet to have someone aboard who isn’t,” Bill agreed, still giggling a little. 

“I’ll think of it as a challenge,” Gabriel said. He held up a slender pipe and struck a match. “In the meantime, I think there are plenty of other ways we can entertain you.” 

*

“I think,” Ryan said, much later. They were at the bow of the ship, feet dangling over the side. They didn’t even come close to reaching water, but the night was warm and the air was cool, and it felt nice. 

Spencer felt _nice_. The day had been confusing and he still didn’t understand what was going on. But Gabriel had shared his opium and then spending the afternoon in the sun had somehow amplified the effect. Andy had made an amazing meal. Alexander warned that it wouldn’t be like that every night, but they’d just left port and had lots of fresh supplies. 

After dinner the crew had gathered on the upper deck and opened a barrel of mead. Ryland played the lute while the crew took turns telling Spencer and Ryan tales from their time on the seas. Spencer wasn’t sure how much of it he could believe, mostly because he still wasn’t sure he believed any of this was really happening. 

Then Gabriel, Travis and William disappeared into the captain’s quarters giggling amongst themselves. Spencer was more than a little curious about that. Victoria laid her head on Ryland’s knee and hummed along as he played. Her fingers moved on her lap restlessly, like she wanted an instrument under them to play along. Nathaniel kept time tapping his toes and hands on the deck and railing, back braced against Alexander’s shoulder. Joe sung sort of nonsense words to Ryland’s tune. 

Tony and Andy were at the helm, talking softly enough that Spencer couldn’t hear them. But they, like the others, had a sort of easy, casual calm about them. Spencer thought, if he had to be on a ship in the middle of the 18th century, this one was probably the best he was going to find. 

“I think,” Ryan whispered, “that I must have hit my head pretty hard in that storm, and I’m having some sort of fever dream.” He was staring at some distant point in the dark. The deck swayed gently beneath them. “And I’m filling in the characters, you know, like “The Wizard of Oz,” with people I knew before.” 

That actually made a fair amount of sense. Except, “I’m not part of your fever dream,” Spencer said. 

“Well, obviously you’d _say_ that,” Ryan said. “But I’m afraid you have no actual awareness, or will of your own.” 

Spencer punched him in the shoulder, hard. “How’s that for will of my own.” 

Ryan rubbed his shoulder absently. “Maybe we’re having shared fever dreams,” he mused. Spencer thought maybe Ryan was composing a poem about their adventure so far. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said dryly. “Problem solved.” 

Ryan gave him a narrow look. “Because you think it’s more plausible that we’ve travelled back in time and met the former incarnations of our modern friends?” 

When he put it like that, maybe Spencer did believe in shared fever dreams. 

Spencer woke too hot and twisted up in his hammock. He only vaguely remembered crawling into it the night before. He knew he had to have been really drunk to have been able to fall asleep in it in the first place. 

Ryan’s hammock was already empty. Spencer got up on unsteady legs. He still felt a little dizzy, whether from drink or drugs, he couldn’t say. Ryan was already up on deck. He’d readjusted his scarves so they mostly covered the fair skin of his neck, chest and arms, and someone had lent him pants. They were cinched tightly around his waist and rolled up several times, so Spencer could guess they’d originally belonged to one of the giants onboard. 

Nathaniel and Ryan were messing around with one of the masts. Spencer really knew less than nothing about how boats worked, particularly these old-fashioned kinds, and Ryan knew less than Spencer. But he was working quickly, without instruction, and he seemed to know what he was doing. 

“Natural,” Nathaniel explained. He, Spencer recalled from their discussions last night, was the Carpenter of the ship, among other things. 

“Can I…er…help?” Spencer asked. He remembered Bill saying that could work off their passage, and he’d rather it be something like this than Gabriel thinking up other activities. 

“I think we got this covered,” Nathaniel said. “But I bet Ryland could use you.” 

Ryland was the Bosun, and Spencer didn’t have any idea what that meant. However, it seemed to entail a lot of climbing up things like a monkey and hanging suspended by rigging, checking ropes and sails and things. 

Spencer didn’t understand _why it was done_ , but once Ryland had gone over everything, Spencer found it simple enough to follow along. He liked the physical work. He wasn’t a big girl like Ryan, who hated getting sweaty. Mostly Spencer spent his days out of the sun, hidden behind a desk in his office. This was almost better than going to the gym, being at sea with the breeze and the hot sun beating down. 

“What’s up with Bill and Gabriel?” Spencer overheard Ryan asking Nathaniel. 

Nathaniel gave Ryan a bewildered look. Ryan flushed and shook his head. “I mean. Obviously they’re…that’s not what I meant. I mean, Bill keeps referring to the _Black Mamba_ as being his ship, but Gabriel goes around calling himself captain, and I’m _certain_ I heard Tony calling Bill the captain…”

“Oh.” Nathaniel shrugged again. “Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that William and Ryland are British. And you know, most people don’t look favourably on that right now. But when the war broke out, they were on our side from the start. Gabriel, too. He joined before the rest of his country got in on things. So William had this ship, a merchant vessel, and he. Er. Surrendered it to Gabriel.” 

Ryan was watching, rapt. Nathaniel went on. “I mean. Technically, as far as the authorities are concerned, William and Michael and Ryland are our prisoners. But Bden doesn’t make Gabriel turn them over to the authorities. Bden loves them too much.” 

“Bden?” Ryan said. 

“Oh! He’s an Admiral of the American Navy. He doesn’t like being an Admiral, though, so he travels around with his best friend, and Bden pretends to be captain. But he was friends with William growing up, so he knows the truth, that Gabriel didn’t really _capture_ the _Mamba_ , so much as William handed it over willingly.” 

Spencer had to admit it was an interesting story. “You’ll meet Bden and his crew soon,” Ryland said. “We’re meeting them up in Eleuthera before we head on to Port-de-Paix.” 

“It’s true?” Spencer said. “You just gave the ship up?” 

Ryland smiled at Spencer like Spencer was a particularly slow child. “We didn’t just _give it up_ ,” he said. “We disagreed with England, believed in America’s right to independence, and threw in our lot with the American’s. Gabe didn’t have a ship, and he wanted to join, as well. So William let Gabe use his ship.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabriel said, appearing beneath them on the deck. “I caught William fair and square.” 

“It’s true,” Travis agreed sagely. “He’s our slave.” 

William nodded. “They chain me up to the bed every night,” he said. 

“TMI,” Ryan said. 

“Tee-em-eye?” Ryland repeated, arching a brow. 

Spencer cracked a grin. He had a sudden flash of teaching 20th century slang to the crew. Fever dream or not, it was an amusing thought. Ryan caught his eye, and Spencer could see that he felt the same. 

They started out with things like TMI and OMG and other abbreviations before moving on to other, more widely used slang, like ‘dude’ and ‘sweet.’ Spencer used ‘gay’ in the more general sense, but Ryan got all defensive like he always did, and had to set the record straight. For someone who wasn’t gay, Ryan got pretty pissy about people using it to mean anything negative. 

Gabriel got a smirk on his face and William and Travis started laughing again. “ _That’s_ what you meant, yesterday,” William said, between gasps of laughter. 

Spencer felt himself flush dark red and Ryan glowered at them. Spencer redirected everyone’s attention by teaching them the fine art of 21st century cuss words. It was sort of fascinating to watch. By the end of the day, most of the crew had picked their favourites of the new words and were trying to fit them into regular conversation. 

“I think we have done our duty to the 18th century,” Ryan said that night, after their third or fourth round of mead and their second pipe of opium. Spencer laid his head on Ryan’s shoulder and nodded his head. He buried his face in Ryan’s hair, which still smelled sweet, even after two days at sea without a shower. 

“You two are so gay,” Joe said fondly, and Spencer flipped him off without looking. 

*

They reached Eleuthera late the next evening. Andy, Mike and Tony stayed aboard, but the rest went into town. Spencer hadn’t ever heard of Eleuthera, but it was a place familiar to the crew. Every person in town seemed to know Gabriel, greeting him as they passed. Spencer kept waiting for some prostitutes to come up and slap Gabriel across the face, like Jack Sparrow. This place seemed a lot like the Tortuga from the movie, only with worse costumes and makeup. 

Joe had gone on ahead of them, and he met them halfway through town. “Doesn’t look like Bden’s made it yet,” he said. 

“Oh no,” Gabriel said, mock pity. “I suppose we’ll just have to party until they get here.” 

There was a tavern near shore where they ended up for the night. Gabriel and Travis knew the owner, so all the other customers were ushered out and the crew of the _Black Mamba_ took over. They were served a surprisingly delicious stew, and then round after round of the local homebrew. It was probably the strongest shit Spencer had ever had. 

Various members of the crew were playing music, and for the first time since they ended up…wherever they were, Spencer missed the music with which he was familiar. His iPod was still in his pants pocket, but he wouldn’t know how to explain it to the crew, no matter how much he thought they’d appreciate it. 

Instead, Spencer pulled Ryan aside and whispered to him and they managed to talk Ryland out of his lute. Spencer made do with a rain stick the bar owner’s wife had, and they began working out acoustic covers of various of their favourite songs, Ryan providing vocals. 

At first, everyone just sort of stared, but then Gabriel and Travis start moving their hips along to the beat. They pulled William between them and then the rest of the crew got into it. 

Hours later, Ryland took his lute back. He messed around with songs he’d been playing them the past few nights, but different, like he was trying to make them sound more like what Ryan had been playing. 

Ryan grabbed Gabe’s hips and showed him how to move them right, and soon everyone was grinding together, dirty and laughing. Victoria in particular seemed to enjoy it, dancing fast and nasty with everyone in the room while Gabriel, Travis and William started a slow grind in the shadows of the corner. After some impressive dance moves on Nathaniel’s part, Ryan decided his new nickname should be Nasty Nate, and it caught on pretty quickly. 

Spencer wasn’t a dancer, but he was happy to let Michael and Alexander try out their newly learned moves with him. Spencer got this flash of melancholy and longing, to think that they would never be a part of this, really. That he and Ryan could teach them all these things, but they’d forever belong to the past. It wasn’t that Spencer had any desire to stay where he was, whether it be stuck in a fever dream in the past. But it made him sad. 

Technically they had access to the bedrooms upstairs from the tavern, but as things began to wind down, people began falling asleep in the booths or strewn out over tables. Spencer thought it was sort of sweet, the pile Gabriel, Travis and William made over the bench of a booth, and the way Victoria’s lap pillowed Nate’s head, while she played with his hair. 

Spencer ended up slouched in a booth between Alexander and Joe. Joe, despite having called Spencer gay for the very thing the night before, tugged Spencer’s head to his chest and rubbed his scalp. Alexander’s head drooped onto Spencer’s shoulder and Joe’s head fell onto Spencer’s head, and that was all Spencer remembered before he fell asleep, that and seeing Ryland and Ryan together across the bar, heads bent together over the lute. 

*

Spencer woke up having to piss like a racehorse and feeling like something died in his mouth. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the bright light streaming through the windows, and noticed Jon standing above him, staring. 

“Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Brendon asked, from near the door. 

“Captain,” Jon called. Alexander had fallen into Spencer’s lap and he nuzzled against Spencer’s jeans. Joe made a snorting, sleepy sound. Neither of them woke. 

“Jon, what…” Brendon trailed off, eyes landing on Spencer. His gaze shot around the room them, finally seeing Ryan. He and Ryland had ended up slumped over the tabletop, Ryan’s hands cradling his head. 

“Gabriel!” Brendon snapped. 

“What the fuck, dude?” Gabriel muttered, smooshed between his two lovers. Brendon frowned, and Spencer fought the inane urge to grin that Gabriel was catching on to slang so quickly. There were bigger concerns right now. 

“Admiral,” Nate greeted, smiling stupidly. Spencer thought Nate was probably still drunk. 

Spencer shouldn’t have been surprised that they knew Brendon and Jon. After all, both crews seemed to know Gerard, Greta and Pete. But no one on the _Mamba_ had brandished weapons or been unreasonably creepy, like Frank. 

“You’re lucky Frank stayed with the ship,” Jon said to Spencer, as if reading his mind. “He wasn’t very happy with you after the other day.” 

“Yeah, well,” Ryan muttered, “we weren’t very happy with him, either.” He lifted his head delicately from the table, and Spencer could tell Ryan had a headache just in the way he held himself. 

“Did you know you’re carrying two potential spies?” Brendon asked Gabriel. 

William muttered something against Gabriel’s shoulder and Gabriel gave Brendon a confused look. “Dude. You know William and Ryland are on our side.” 

Brendon shook his head. “Why do you keep calling me…I’m not talking about William and Ryland,” he snapped. “I’m talking about Ryan and Spencer.” 

Travis giggled. “Those two, spies?” he asked. 

“ _The Black Infinity_ missed our rendezvous, and then we found these two outside Nassau, on a strange ship. They said they knew were Gerard was, and led us to Nassau, where they escaped,” Brendon said. 

“If we were spies,” Ryan said, tone scathing, “do you think we’d run away from you just to join up with your allies and get caught again a few days later?” Spencer felt it best to leave out the part that they hadn’t _known_ that the crew of the _Mamba_ was allies with that of the _Sea_.

Jon’s lips quirked like it made sense, but Brendon’s frown deepened. “Joe, Alexander, wake the hell up. Take Spencer back to the _Sea_. Ryland, you can take Ryan, I trust? Jon and I must speak to your captains.” 

*

Frank was practically foaming at the mouth when he saw Ryan and Spencer. He got his dagger out and was all up in Ryan’s face in a matter of seconds. “Dude, step the fuck off,” Joe said, in that mellow way he had. Spencer thought Joe was pretty awesome, and also quick at picking things up. 

“I can take care of them from here,” Frank said. 

Ryland and Joe exchanged looks over Ryan’s head. “That’s quite alright,” Ryland said slowly. “Brendon was fairly clear about us being the ones to do it. We’ll just stay with them until he and Jon return.” 

Frank compromised by following along after them, muttering threatening things under his breath and glaring darkly at everyone. Ryland led them into the captain’s cabin and made himself comfortable behind the desk. Alexander half sat in his lap. Spencer was beginning to wonder at their closeness, and that of everyone else in this group. Certainly this sort of thing wasn’t _normal_ in the 18th century. Then again, they were on ships…

“So, you’ve done something nefarious with _The Black Infinity_?” Ryland asked casually. 

Spencer rolled his eyes and saw Ryland trying not to crack a smile. “I’m not even sure how to begin to explain it to you,” Spencer said. “But sufficed to say, Ryan and I didn’t do anything to Gerard or Pete, or any of the others. We don’t even know Gerard, but Pete is our friend.” 

“Then why did you lie about them being at Nassau?” Frank demanded. 

Spencer sighed and Ryan shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “That’s where we saw them last,” Spencer muttered. 

“There isn’t even a bar called The Littlest Mermaid,” Frank said, voice rising in pitch and volume with every word. 

Ryland cringed and Joe stepped subtly between Frank and Ryan and Spencer. It was a nice thought, Spencer figured, but he wasn’t sure how much actual good Joe would be in a fight against Frank. Joe seemed about as threatening as a kitten. 

“We will take care of this interrogation, Frank, thank you,” Brendon said. Spencer hadn’t even heard the door open, but when he turned, Brendon and Jon were standing just inside, watching. 

“In fact,” Brendon said, “I think we’re going to be switching up the crew roster a little. Michael and Mike are going to be joining us and Frank, you and Darren are going to take their places on the _Mamba_.”

Frank glowered at them. “You’re not _my_ admiral,” he said. “You can’t just order me around. Gee’s the only one I take orders from.” 

Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Frank, you can either go to the _Mamba_ , or we can leave you here.” 

“Come on, little man,” Ryland said. He got up and put an arm around Frank’s shoulder that Frank immediately shrugged off. 

“I’ll kill you,” Frank said to Ryland quietly. And then to Spencer and Ryan, with more fervour. “I’ll kill you.” Joe whispered something in Frank’s ear that made Frank deflate a little, and then he left Joe and Ryland lead him off. 

“Hey,” Alexander said on the way out, “be cool.” 

“You too,” Spencer said, letting Alexander tap his fist against Spencer’s, like they’d been teaching the _Mamba_. Alexander squeezed Ryan’s shoulder and left. 

Brendon and Jon were giving them strange looks. “There was no bar with the name you gave us,” Brendon said. He went to his seat and Jon leaned against the side of the desk. 

“Look,” Ryan snapped. “We didn’t do anything to your friends, and Pete’s a big spaz, he probably just _forgot_ you were supposed to meet, or something.” 

Jon made a face like he sort of agreed. “While that doesn’t sound unlike Pete,” Brendon said, “Gerard is far more responsible than that.” 

“We’re Americans,” Spencer said. He let his annoyance show. “You can see that. Why would we want to do something with them?” 

“Not every American supports our bid for independence,” Brendon said. “Just as Ryland and William joined our fight, there are those Americans who have turned to the British.” 

“Whatever. I don’t know what else we can tell you. You can ask all the stupid questions you want. We’re not spies, we didn’t do anything to your friends. All we want to do is go home,” Spencer said. That was all he was going to say on the matter, too. 

“We have had your ship taken to Nassau. We are heading for Port-de-Paix now. Mister Stump will decide whether or not you will be allowed to return to it,” Brendon said. 

“Terrific,” Spencer said. 

Jon had that strange smirky smile back again. “In the meantime,” Brendon said, “we’ve decided not to lock you back in the brig. Travis convinced us that you are harmless, and as we will be at sea, with only the _Mamba_ as company, I am not particularly worried that you’ll be mounting another escape plan.” 

“How magnanimous,” Ryan said, in a high fluttery voice. 

“All the same,” Brendon went on, “you will remain with one of us at all times. Jon will be keeping an eye on you, Spencer, and I will look after Ryan. In the evenings, we’ll be locking you in our quarters.” 

Spencer couldn’t help it. He looked at Ryan’s wide-eyed, almost comically horrified face, and then the two of them burst into laughter. “I’m pretty sure your mom _has_ this book,” Ryan said, and Spencer said, “oh god,” and the two of them buried their faces in each other’s shoulders, struggling to breathe. 

Brendon looked honestly bewildered, which made Spencer slightly less worried about Ryan’s virtue. He whispered as much in Ryan’s ear and got a solid punch in the arm for his effort. 

*

Jon had his own quarters off of Brendon’s. They weren’t so ridiculously opulent as the William’s, but they looked more comfortable than the hammocks Spencer had got used to over the past few nights. Jon had a fairly big bed with high sides, no doubt to keep him from rolling out during a storm. There was a desk covered in papers and books and a barred shelf filled with various kinds of alcohol. But Spencer’s attention was drawn to the corner. 

There was a comfortable looking armchair with a guitar propped against the side and beside them both was an easel. The easel had a mostly finished watercolour of some busy harbour, and on the walls to either side were several finished watercolours—some with similar scenes, some of people Spencer had met over the past few days, or strangers, some with animals or the sunset on the water. 

“Did you do these?” he asked. He didn’t want to really talk to Jon, mostly because this whole scenario was ridiculous, and Spencer didn’t want to deal with ridiculous. But the paintings were really kind of awesome. 

Jon came to stand beside Spencer and shrugged. “We travel a lot, obviously. I like the way things look, and then I picture them in my head, and when I see them again, it’s never the same. So I paint them.” 

Spencer thought about the way Ryan liked to take photographs of regular, everyday things that no one else would bother with, and how they had a separate album for each of the vacations they’d been on, and how Ryan’s sidekick needed it’s own 8 gig micro sd card for all the stupid pictures he took. Spencer thought maybe it was a little sad that Jon didn’t have that luxury. But then again, Jon’s paintings were a lot nicer than most the pictures Ryan took. 

“Don’t you have, like, duties, or something,” Spencer asked. He was annoyed at himself for asking Jon about the paintings, and he wasn’t sure _why_. “I mean, being the commander.” 

Jon laughed. “Actually,” he said, pitching his voice low and private, like he was telling Spencer a secret, “I’m the captain of the _Behind the Sea_ , but Brendon hates being called Admiral, so we let him pretend.” 

And, Spencer really should have put that much together, from what Ryland and the others had told them about Admiral Bden. He wanted to make a Captain Kirk reference and then realised any pop-culture jokes were going to be lost on Jon. Spencer found himself making a sour face. 

Jon went on, watching Spencer warily. “Master Conrad is my Second in Command, and he is quite capable of keeping order on the ship. It isn’t difficult. You’ve seen how the _Mamba_ works. The _Sea_ is the same. Everyone here does their job without complaint, and they are good at what they do. 

“I spend most of my day observing on deck, or taking care of the charts. Brendon is kind of miserable with Cartography,” Jon said. He sounded unbothered by it. There was an altogether laid back air about him. 

“So. Do you want to tell me what you were doing out at sea in your advanced boat, if you aren’t spies?” Jon asked casually. 

Spencer levelled him with a glare. “No,” he said. 

“Alright,” Jon said. “Come on, I’ll take you on a tour of the ship.” 

*

Spencer spent his afternoon following Jon around the ship as he went about his duties. The first time on the ship, Spencer hadn’t got to meet the crew, but Jon fixed that this time. 

Bob was a small, quiet guy in charge of the sails. He didn’t say much to Spencer, and Jon explained that Bob’s best friend was on _The Black Infinity_. Spencer appreciated that Bob didn’t feel the same need Frank did to go crazy on innocent people over his friend’s disappearance. 

Cash was kind of obnoxious, but he had Ryland’s job on this ship, and he was so busy hopping all over the ship that he wasn’t often in Spencer’s vicinity. Jon explained that usually the three ships often changed rosters, and assured Spencer that Cash wasn’t quite so difficult to handle when his friends were around. They, too, were on the _Infinity_ , but Cash didn’t seem overly worried about that. 

Adam turned out to be the Sisky to which William had often referred on the _Mamba_ , and Butcher was the Andrew Gabriel had mentioned, so Spencer felt he already knew them. It helped that now Michael and Mike were aboard the ship, and they were close friends to Butcher and Sisky. When Michael said Spencer and Ryan were cool, the others accepted it without question. 

Tom wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but Jon said Spencer would meet him at dinner. Spencer wasn’t sure that he particularly cared to, but he didn’t say as much. Then Jon had spent the rest of the afternoon the captain’s cabin, going over sea charts. Ryan had been dragged on deck with Brendon, so Spencer was left alone with Jon. 

It wasn’t so bad. In fact, and it wasn’t like Spencer was going to admit it to Jon, but the sea charts were _really neat_. They were big and sprawling and difficult to handle, which led to lots of jagged rips and pages curling when Jon tried to read them. Spencer could see a lot of familiar shorelines that were surprisingly accurate, given that there was no way the artists could have seen them from above. 

There were some obvious mistakes here and there, but mostly Spencer was just really impressed that Jon and Gerard had drawn these _by hand_. They were remarkably detailed, covered in tiny notes and little drawings of mermaids and dragons and boats. Spencer had always thought that was just a Hollywood thing. 

“Before the war broke out, we weren’t exactly a _legal_ operation,” Jon admitted, when Spencer found what was an honest to god, totally real treasure map. “Brendon and Gerard were never big on piracy, and still aren’t even now, but Gabriel, Pete and William didn’t have any problem with it. Brendon liked to distract them from attacking ships by searching for treasure.” 

If he really thought about it, Spencer realised that of course pirates had been real, and so had their treasures. But it had all been so sensationalised in movies that it was difficult to accept that this sort of thing had actually happened. 

Jon kept up a running commentary the whole day, having a one-sided conversation with Spencer. He didn’t seem to mind that Spencer didn’t answer half his questions or respond to most of his statements. Jon showed him how to use the sextant and the quadrant and the nonius. 

And, okay, Spencer felt a little bit like he was in one of his mother’s novels when Jon stood close behind Spencer and helped him line up the sextant with his arms around Spencer’s waist and his breath stirring Spencer’s hair. Spencer wasn’t some stupid heroine, though, and his heart certainly didn’t start beating faster. 

* Dinner wasn’t quite the same party it had been on the _Mamba_. The tension in the air was palpable. Bob just stared at his plate and picked at his meal without eating it. Tom mostly glared at Spencer in a way not entirely different from Frank. Ryan had his serious bitchface on and Brendon looked almost…sad. Cash seemed oblivious to it all and talked really loudly. 

It helped a little that Mike, Michael, Adam and the Butcher behaved almost like normal human beings and did their best to distract everyone from the tension with casual conversation. 

“I think that Tom guy was trying to kill me with the power of his mind,” Spencer commented to Jon, when they were back in his cabin. “I don’t suppose I’m somehow responsible for his best friend missing, too, am I?’ 

Jon cracked a smile. “No. I think he’s worried you might try to kill his best friend in his sleep, though.” 

“Oh,” Spencer said. He frowned, chewing on his lip, and wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

Jon made a big point of locking the door and tying the key around his neck. Spencer rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Other than as some ridiculous romance novel trope, there was no point in locking Spencer and Ryan in. As Brendon himself had acknowledged, there wasn’t anywhere they could really go on the ship. 

“Your plan has so many flaws,” Spencer told Jon. He had been trying not to talk unless it was necessary, and while he wasn’t an overly talkative person by nature, it was getting to him. “All I’d have to do is kill you in your sleep and take the damn key.” 

“True,” Jon agreed easily. He was digging through his chest and gave Spencer a long, plain white dressing gown. “I don’t have any other sleep pants,” Jon explained, gesturing to the clothing he meant to change in to. 

Spencer was a little hesitant, but Jon began stripping down immediately. He wasn’t wearing anything under his pants. Spencer supposed living at sea with a bunch of men, you got over hang-ups about being naked in front of other people. 

All the same, Spencer quickly averted his eyes (not before getting a glimpse of lean, muscled hips and a nice ass) and turned to quickly change his own clothes. He folded his jeans and t-shirt and laid them on the edge of the bed and tugged the gown on. 

The gown was short on Spencer—he had a few inches on Jon—falling just below his knees. It felt strange when he moved, the hem swishing against his skin. The neck was wide and kept slipping off his shoulder, and the sleeves were full then gathered at the wrist. 

Spencer felt a little silly in the gown, like a child. But he had been wearing the same clothes for the past several days, and it was refreshing to be in something clean, something breathable, that didn’t make the heat of the Caribbean press in on all sides. 

“I’m just saying,” Spencer continued, “Ryan could do the same to Brendon.” Spencer left out the part where Ryan usually freaked out when he accidentally killed a spider, even though he was _scared_ of spiders. 

“He could,” Jon said. 

“We could get out and kill everyone on your ship.” 

Jon crossed the room, messing around with something behind his desk. “You couldn’t pilot this ship, just the two of you,” he said distractedly. 

“You’re willing to risk getting your throat slit on that belief?” Spencer asked. 

Jon finally looked at Spencer, frowning. “Are you going to slit my throat?” he asked. 

It was just—something about the way Jon looked at him—his eyes big and earnest and serious, which was stupid, because Ryan’s eyes were bigger and prettier and Ryan’s puppy eyes never worked on Spencer. But…Spencer sort of deflated under Jon’s gaze. He dropped the defiant pose he’d struck, arms falling limply by his sides. “No,” he said. 

Jon smiled a slow, easy smile. “Good. Since we’ve got that settled, would you like something to drink?” 

What Spencer _wanted_ was, like, a joint and a beer and his own goddamned bed. Stuck as he was, in a fever dream, or the past, or whatever, he’d prefer to be on board _The Black Mamba_. He’d settle for alcohol, though. 

Jon poured them both a generous helping of rum and cut it with grapefruit and honey. Spencer was reserving judgement until he tasted it. He supposed it could be worse. He remembered horror stories from college history class about water aboard ships growing algae and becoming stagnant, and how they’d covered the flavour with alcohol and cinnamon. Luckily, both the _Sea_ and the _Mamba_ seemed fairly wealthy—enough that they could keep a nice store of healthy drinking water aboard. 

They sat in silence around Jon’s table for several minutes. For the first time since they’d arrived in the past, Spencer was hit with the sheer _boredom_ of living in this time. They’d either been running, or hanging out with the crew of the _Mamba_ so far, which had kept them busy. Now the _Sea_ was quiet and still, and Spencer thought that if he’d had to live like this all his life, without music or television, or clubs to turn to, he’d have gone crazy. 

“You play?” Jon asked, gesturing to the chess board that lay before them. Spencer wondered if the pieces were constantly going everywhere, when it stormed. 

Spencer shrugged. Ryan had gone through a chess phase when they were juniors in high school. Spencer had actually picked it up pretty well—he just saw the moves playing out before it happened. 

Ryan, on the other hand, liked to move the “horsey” as he called the knight, “because it has the coolest move.” After a couple months of this, Ryan tired of it, and Spencer hadn’t cared enough to find someone else to play with. 

It was something to do. Jon set up the board and Spencer slowly sipped his drink. The taste wasn’t horrible. It was strangely sour and cloying at the same time, and Spencer found he kept wanting to taste it again. 

They played an entire game in silence, and Jon made him two more drinks over the course of it. Spencer felt his body letting go of tension, going loose and heavy. He wasn’t tired, really, which was strange because he hadn’t been getting a lot of quality sleep the past few days. He was comfortable, though. 

He knew it was the alcohol that made him want to talk, but he was _bored_ , and no matter what Ryan said, Spencer wasn’t so stubborn that he’d keep himself from being entertained. 

“This is what you do for fun?” Spencer asked. “Every night?” 

“Not always. Brendon is usually the only one who will play with me. Sometimes Gabriel and William,” Jon said. He got up to get them more drinks, reaching for the tequila this time. “Usually the crew is livelier. We exchange crews fairly often, and everyone is friends. The musically inclined will play for us. Brendon knows a lot of old lais, and he’s got a really nice voice. 

“And I paint most evenings, or read, if the ship is quiet.” Jon looked content about it, but Spencer still thought it sounded epically boring. 

“What do you read?” Spencer asked. He tried to think of literature that would have been popular in the 18th century, but that was really more Ryan’s speed. 

“Mostly I read journals of other captains and explorers,” Jon said. “Though Brendon prefers fiction. I’ve read some of the things he has—Swift, Pope. A ship from the Indies brought this book, _A Thousand and One Nights_. He’s been reading it to the crew recently. 

“Mostly, though, it’s Shakespeare. I think Brendon finds it an offence enacted upon him by God that he wasn’t born to be a player on Shakespeare’s stage,” Jon had this slightly sly smile that Spencer found himself wanting to return, more and more. 

Jon trailed his fingers lightly over his pieces, as if considering his next move. He said, cautiously, “I tried reading the books I found among your belongings.” 

It took Spencer a second to remember what books he and Ryan had been reading. Spencer had been leisurely re-reading _Slaughterhouse-Five_ while Ryan was tackling something by Kafka. 

Spencer wasn’t sure how to explain either of them without sounding like a lunatic. Jon got up from the table and went to his desk, bringing back more tequila and Spencer’s worn copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_. It had been Ryan’s since he was twelve and it was filled with Ryan’s notes, pages loose, spine worn. 

Jon flipped it open a few pages and turned it for Spencer to see. “I couldn’t…” Jon stopped and bit his lip. “I couldn’t get very far, because it didn’t make sense. I didn’t know these words…” He flipped through the pages, pointing out words like “movie-maker” “taxicab” and “telephone.” “And he keeps talking about a Second World War,” Jon finished. 

Spencer felt this strange _aching_ sadness. He couldn’t really understand it, except that it seemed wrong that Jon not understand these things. Spencer didn’t have Ryan’s romantic streak. Spencer had never wished he’d been born in another time. 

“It’s a fairytale,” Spencer finally said. He didn’t know how else to explain it and Jon looked honestly curious and baffled. “Movies are…” He looked around the room helplessly, and his gaze lighted on Jon’s paintings. “They’re like moving paintings, that tell a story, like a play. And taxicabs are carriages that move without anything pulling them, and telephones let you talk to people who are miles and miles away, in different countries, even. You talk in one end, and the sound comes out on the other end, right away.” 

Jon was frowning, but nodding. Spencer flipped through the book some more, looking for other modern words and tried to explain them in terms someone from the 18th century might understand. More often than not, Spencer thought Jon didn’t really get it. But Jon kept asking questions. 

It grew darker and darker until Jon lit a lantern and the alcohol hit Spencer hard, suddenly. Jon stayed up with the book, still trying to decipher it, but he told Spencer he was welcome to sleep. The bed was surprisingly soft and Spencer was growing accustomed to the gentle sway of the ocean, lulling him to sleep. 

*

When Spencer woke it took him a moment to realise that what had stirred him was Ryan’s high pitched squeal. It took him another minute to remember that he was on a boat in the _18th century_ , and another, longer minute to realise that in his sleep, Spencer had curled up against Jon’s back. 

Sometime after Spencer had gone to bed, Jon had shed his shirt. His back was strong-looking and tan, and really soft under Spencer’s cheek. Jon, apparently, had noticed Spencer’s cuddling too, because when Spencer hastily scrambled out of bed, Jon rolled over lazily and smiled at him. 

Spencer decided to postpone his embarrassment in favour of finding out what the hell was going on with Ryan. He snapped his fingers at Jon impatiently and Jon just blinked at him sleepily. “The _key_ ,” Spencer said. Jon lifted it from around his neck and handed it over without question. 

In the outer cabin, Ryan and Brendon seemed to be facing off on opposite sides of Brendon’s desk. “What the hell?” Spencer asked. 

“Brendon,” Ryan panted, voice rising with each word, “knows _fuck-all_ about music and he should just shut his stupid face.” 

Brendon’s glare, while not nearly as intimidating as Spencer’s own, or as deeply unaffected as Ryan’s, was nonetheless pretty impressive. “People’s voices don’t _work like that_ ,” Brendon growled back. 

“I didn’t even say you had to sing it,” Ryan shouted back. In a fit of irritation, he shoved at several papers on Brendon’s desktop, sending them fluttering all over the room. 

“Captain?” Jon was leaning in the doorjamb watching the scene with a bemused expression. 

Ryan really looked over for the first time. Spencer saw his eyes taking in Spencer’s nightgown and Jon’s bare chest. A lot of his annoyance melted away at the sight. “We were just experiencing creative differences. In that Brendon _has no creativity_ ,” Ryan said, slanting a scowl at Brendon. “But I’m sorry if we interrupted something.” 

Spencer felt a little crazy in his head. “Creative differences?” he echoed. 

Ryan must have read Spencer’s tone. He took on his casually indifferent pose, one hand on his hip, head tossed back. “Yeah. He just looked at some of my poetry and took it upon himself to turn it into songs.” 

Jon took Brendon aside to whisper something to him, Brendon shooting dark looks at Ryan all the while. It was more than a little amusing. “This is fucking insane,” Ryan said in an undertone. “Fucking insane. Trying to explain my imagery to an 18th century pirate. Dude, what the fuck?” 

“Don’t play,” Spencer said, unimpressed. “You’re loving every second of it.” 

Ryan’s face split into a grin, angled so Brendon couldn’t see it. “Actually,” Ryan said, slipping closer to Spencer, “his voice is fucking _amazing_. Like...golden. His voice, Spencer.” Then Ryan’s face brightened. “Meanwhile, what’s up with your dashingly shirtless captor?” 

“Blow me,” Spencer said, and flicked Ryan hard on the arm. Then he took advantage of Jon’s distraction to get changed back into his own clothing, doing it in record time. 

*

When they all met up again on deck, Spencer wasn’t even moderately surprised to find Ryan borrowing some of Brendon’s clothing. So, Ryan obviously rocked the look, with his insanely skinny limbs and romantically curly head of hair, but Spencer thought Ryan was having a little too much fun running around the ship with Sisky and Michael learning 18th century sailor slang in exchange for his 20th century words. Apparently the whole ‘stay with one of us thing’ only extended to the point where Ryan pissed Brendon off enough that Brendon didn’t care anymore. 

Spencer knew if he felt like wandering off, Jon probably wouldn’t say anything, either, but Spencer didn’t so much mind spending the time with Jon. Part of him wanted to stay stubbornly silent, but Spencer liked Jon’s soft smile too much, and the way when Jon told him stories, Spencer didn’t feel so much like he was going insane. 

They spent the morning going over more charts and Jon ended up telling Spencer the story of how he first became a sailor. Jon’s dad had been a fisherman in Antigua and Jon had met Pete, who’d always had grand ideas about piracy. 

The whole thing was surreal, because Spencer couldn’t stop thinking of it in terms of some monologue from a movie or something. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that this had actually happened to Jon. 

In the afternoon, when Jon walked the deck, Spencer helped the Butcher with some of thing things Ryland had taught him. The Butcher was thankful for the help and Spencer was glad for the physical activity. He felt Jon watching him several times, and when he finally looked over, Jon and Tom were both staring at him, whispering close to each other. 

Dinner was less awkward, for which Spencer was infinitely thankful. Whatever had been bothering Brendon and Ryan the previous night had apparently disappeared between then and their ‘creative differences.’ They had a sort of playful banter they’d taken up, and Brendon, Sisky and the Butcher were already picking up on modern slang. Tom still didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t glaring at Spencer so much. 

There was light left in the sky, and Jon had said he liked working by natural light, so he went back to his quarters. Spencer’s clothes were sticky with sweat and really getting rank, so he went too, and only felt relatively embarrassed about putting on the dressing gown. 

“You were good out there today,” Jon said. “Were you Bosun on your ship?” 

“I…” Spencer stopped short, at a complete loss for what to say. He shook his head. “I’m no sailor,” he said at last. He wanted so badly to say more. “Ryan and I, we’re from New York. We don’t have anything to do with this war…”

“What were you doing out there in that ship?” Jon asked, gaze soft but unflinching. 

Spencer bit his lip, worried it with his tongue. “I can’t—” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t make any difference,” he said. “We really didn’t do anything with your friends, but it wouldn’t make any sense. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“I might,” Jon said, and Spencer wished that was true. People always said that. They always said ‘you can tell me anything,’ ‘I won’t laugh,’ ‘I won’t judge,’ and then they always did. 

Anyway, the moment was sort of ruined anyway when Ryan came bursting in with Mike and Michael, the three of them laughing like they were fucking toasted. “Spencer, I got my things back. I got my things back, and would you believe it, the weed is still good.” 

Spencer was singularly unimpressed, until Ryan handed him a generous portion of it. Then Ryan sidled up to Jon, batting his lashes. “Brendon said you had the _good_ alcohol,” Ryan said winningly. 

Jon laughed, touching Ryan on the hip to steady him and something sharp shot through Spencer, startlingly like jealous. It was probably the most irrational thing he’d ever felt, because this was _Ryan_ , and Spencer would never be jealous of him. Particularly since he knew Ryan was doing some sort of weird mating dance with Brendon that involved name-calling and probably hair-pulling. 

And yet…

Ryan and his gang left as noisily as they’d come, taking a bottle each with them, yelling for Sisky and the Butcher to join them in Brendon’s quarters. 

“Do you wanna?” Spencer asked, dangling the bag. 

“Is that opium?” Jon asked. 

“Close enough,” Spencer said. 

Jon grabbed a bottle of rum and they sat on the balcony off his cabin as they smoked, legs between the railings. Jon kept asking questions about Spencer that Spencer couldn’t answer. He knew it was only making Jon more suspicious, and it didn’t do much for Spencer’s protestations of his innocence. It sucked, because the more time Spencer spent with Jon, the more he _wanted_ to tell him these things. 

They moved inside when it started to rain and Spencer sat in Jon’s nice armchair while Jon played his guitar. He felt himself drift off, but he was comfortable and high enough that he felt like he was outside his own body, looking down. 

When he opened his eyes again, Jon was at his easel, making fast tight strokes with his brush. He glanced almost guiltily at Spencer as he stirred. Spencer rose and came closer to see. 

For a minute, he didn’t understand _what_ he was seeing. It was a crazy jumble of images and colours, only vaguely familiar. Then Jon confessed, softly, “I couldn’t get all those things out of my head. Those things you told me about last night.” 

And then the images began to resolve themselves. That great, birdlike object in the sky might have been an airplane from the perspective of someone who didn’t know any better. The strange crawling, animal like carriages could have been cars. It was sort of fantastic and amazing. 

Spencer didn’t really think about what he was doing. He pushed Jon away from the canvas and back until Jon’s back hit the wall. It was as easy as Spencer ducking his head and Jon lifting his face, and they were kissing. It wasn’t hesitant, even from the start. 

Jon opened his mouth and Spencer dove right in. Jon’s mouth tasted like stale alcohol, but it wasn’t so bad, since Spencer’s did, too. He wished inanely for a toothbrush. 

Then Jon rolled his hips up slowly and Spencer stopped thinking about anything except how Jon made him feel the strangest _strongest_ things and there wasn’t any reason for it, there wasn’t anything in particular special about Jon, except the way he made Spencer feel—confused and protective and sad, but in a good way, if that even made sense. 

Jon tugged him toward the bed without breaking their kiss. His hands were big, and warm through the thin fabric of the dressing gown. They roved down Spencer’s sides, around his back. Spencer was taller than Jon, but he didn’t feel like it. He felt small, and he didn’t mind it. He actually sort of liked it. 

“I’m not a spy, Jon,” Spencer panted against his mouth. “I didn’t do anything to Gerard.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jon said. Spencer wanted to smile at the fact that Jon was already unconsciously picking up his slang, but it just made something ache in his chest. 

Jon trailed kisses down Spencer’s jaw. His teeth scraped hard over Spencer’s pulse. “It’s okay, Spencer.” Jon sucked and it was just the wrong side of comfortable, but Spencer didn’t want to complain. He didn’t want Jon to stop. 

They stumbled and Jon sat down hard on the edge of the bed. He tugged on Spencer’s gown and hiking it up enough that Spencer could easily straddle Jon’s lap. Jon let out a low groan when Spencer settled in place, their erections pressed tight and hot together. Spencer caught Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked, thought about just kissing Jon’s mouth forever. Jon’s lips were a little chapped and his mouth was sour, and Spencer just _didn’t care_. 

Jon got his hands on Spencer’s hips and Spencer didn’t take much urging. Jon rocked up and Spencer grinded down. He moved in a slow swivel that made Jon’s fingers clench hard enough to bruise. Spencer breathed out harshly through his nose and did it again, smiling into their kiss. 

Jon cradled the nape of Spencer’s neck and guided him back gently, kissing his way down Spencer’s neck again, over his collarbone. The neck of the gown was wide enough; Jon rolled it down Spencer’s arms and Spencer shimmied a little, and then it was hanging loosely around his waist and Spencer tugged on Jon’s shirt until it was off, too, and they were skin to skin. 

“So pretty, Spencer,” Jon whispered against his shoulder. “I want to paint you.” Spencer nodded distractedly, threading his fingers in Jon’s hair. 

Spencer was so close and Jon scraped his teeth over Spencer’s nipple. A ridiculous squeaking noise slipped past Spencer’s lips and he thrust his hips up, fingers tugging hard on Jon’s hair until they were kissing again, teeth clicking painfully, and Spencer came, jerking in Jon’s arms. 

Jon rolled them onto the bed. Spencer went easily, boneless from his orgasm. He lifted his legs a little to cradle Jon with his thighs. Jon gave a few rough thrusts and came with a groan, burying his face in Spencer’s neck. He bit down hard, but not enough that Spencer minded. 

Spencer let his eyes fall closed and let Jon arrange them more comfortably on the bed. He heard Jon getting rid of his trousers and didn’t worry about opening his eyes, content with the knowledge that he could look all he wanted. “Are you just going to sleep like that,” Jon asked, tugging at the dressing gown. 

“Mmmhmm,” Spencer hummed. Jon chuckled and settled down on his side next to him. Spencer rolled into Jon and Jon’s arms came around him right away. One of Spencer’s bare legs slid between Jon’s and they fell asleep just like that. 

*

Spencer woke up and it was still dark except for the light of a lantern. He blinked blearily and confirmed with his hand that the bed was empty. He didn’t have to look far for Jon, who was sitting at the bedside with a sketch book and charcoal. 

“Let me see,” Spencer mumbled. Jon gave him the book easily. The current page was Spencer’s hip, his fingers curling loosely at his waist, the sheet barely making him decent. He liked the way Jon drew his fingers, and he’d even got the birthmark on Spencer’s hipbone. 

There were other pictures. Spencer’s face, his mouth, his hair spilling over the pillow, one eye close up, all the individual lashes drawn. “I want this,” Jon said, standing and sweeping his thumb up the side of Spencer’s nose, right in the corner of his eye. “It’s my favourite part of you.” 

“You can have it,” Spencer said softly. He felt inexplicably breathless. 

Jon took the book and set it aside. Spencer pulled the gown over his head, throwing it away as Jon climbed over Spencer, looming above him, face cast in shadows and golden light. 

Spencer fell back on his back, hands coming up to frame Jon’s ribs. Jon ducked his head and Spencer tipped his face back, let his eyes flutter closed. Jon’s lips pressed to the same place his thumb had brushed. It made Spencer’s chest feel heavy, like it might cave in. 

They moved slowly, less frantically than they had earlier. Jon’s hands left dark smudges of charcoal over Spencer’s skin, making new shadows. It felt strangely erotic, like Jon was redrawing Spencer’s lines. 

It was better naked, all skin on skin, and Spencer could feel just how hard and wet Jon was, leaving sticky trails on the soft skin of Spencer’s inner thighs. Spencer maybe loved the way Jon kissed him all over, like he had all the time in the world, and this was all he ever wanted to do with it. 

Spencer hadn’t had a lot of encounters that included conversation as well as sex, and those that he had had always been with women. But he didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable with Jon, lying together when they’d finished. Jon’s hands kept roaming over Spencer’s arms and back. 

“I meant what I said,” Spencer said. “I promise we’re not spies, I want to tell you, but I—”

“I know, and Brendon does, too,” Jon said. He tilted his head to kiss Spencer’s slowly and thoroughly. “We didn’t think you were at first, but then you said about Gerard, and Nassau, but Spencer, we don’t think so. We just don’t want to let you two go, either.” 

Spencer didn’t like people trying to control him. He should have been struggling to get out of Jon’s hold or starting a fight. Doing anything, really, other than letting a smile bloom there, slow and bright. It was so wide it made his face hurt and Jon hesitantly smiled back. It made Spencer’s heart ache. 

“We’re not going anywhere, Jon. We’re where we want to be,” Spencer said, and was only slightly surprised to find that he was telling the absolute truth. He didn’t even know how to go about getting home, but beyond missing showers and electricity, and deodorant, there wasn’t anything in 2009 that he wanted more than he wanted to be here. He knew Ryan felt the same. 

Jon’s arms were loose around Spencer and Jon’s lips made little shapes in the hollow of Spencer’s collarbone. All the stress of his life—worries about Ryan and school, his own job and wondering if his wage, no matter how good, would get them through America’s current financial crisis—seemed to sway away on the waves, and Spencer slept. 

*

“Hey,” Jon said, and Spencer opened his eyes. He felt well rested and stretched, enjoying the pull in his muscles. Jon smiled and leaned in quickly for a peck on the lips. Spencer barely had time to pucker his lips before Jon was pulling back. He made a noise of disappointment, but Jon grabbed Spencer’s hands and tugged. 

“Come on,” Jon said. “We’re making a stop.” 

Ryan had, during the night, put his foot down about the bathing issue. When Jon pulled Spencer into the main cabin, Ryan explained that it was part of Turks and Caicos, very knowingly, and Spencer pointed out that the entirety of Ryan’s knowledge of Caribbean maps came from playing _Pirates!_ on the x-box. 

It was a small, uninhabited island, though many sailors made stops there for fresh water. Spencer was sort of insanely excited about the idea of bathing. He grabbed up his clothing to clean and just went onto the island in his dressing gown. There were whistles and catcalls, mostly from Gabriel and Travis, but Spencer just flipped them off. 

Jon caught up with Spencer on the beach and slung a casual arm around Spencer’s waist. It felt right, and Spencer wasn’t about to be embarrassed about this. He put his own arm over Jon’s shoulders, bumping their hips together and they trudged clumsily through the sand. The catcalls got worse, and Ryan and the others joined in. 

Jon blushed, turning his face into Spencer’s neck. Spencer let his hair fall to shield their faces and kissed Jon as they walked. “You really don’t strike me as the shy type,” Spencer said against Jon’s lips. 

“Just happy,” Jon said. “Also you don’t know these guys like I do…”

Spencer waved a negligent hand at the others. “Whatever. When Gabriel, William and Travis aren’t having an illicit gay threesome, then they can give you shit.” 

“The way you talk, Spencer…” Jon said, smile slightly bewildered. “I don’t even understand you sometimes. You’re a mystery.” 

It was Spencer’s turn to blush. He hid it by turning his face into the sun, squinting. “I’m not a mystery,” he said sincerely. 

They followed a stream through a line of trees. The trees got thicker, but not too very dense. The crews began to break up as the stream widened, stopping to wash their clothing downstream. Spencer put his iPod on a rock and knelt to get his clothes wet. Jon sat beside him, wetting his own clothing and offering a bar of soap to Spencer. 

“That thing,” Jon said, nodding his head to the rock. “There was another one, in your bag. And those things that you and Ryan both had, that glow…what are they?” 

Spencer might have thought it was just a bid for information, coming from anyone else, but he didn’t believe that about Jon, not now. He didn’t say anything, though. He didn’t know what to say. 

“I thought—” Jon paused, and when Spencer looked over, Jon shook his head and laughed, self-deprecatingly. 

“What?” Spencer asked, trying to make his voice sound soft. 

“It’s crazy, but I thought of some of those things you told me about, in that book. The way those things of yours light up, and if you press the buttons, there are words and names…” He was frowning down at the stream and his hands had stopped moving on his clothing. “It’s crazy,” he said, and shook his head again. 

Spencer leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Jon’s mouth. He laid his clothes out over the rocks to let them dry and stood up. “Hurry and come get clean with me, then we can go back to the ship, and I’ll show you what they are.” 

Most everyone else was already at the place where the stream opened up and became wide and deep. The water moved slowly enough that it wasn’t a danger. Travis and William were stretched out on the shore sunbathing, but everyone else was in the water, some bathing, mostly just goofing off. 

Everyone was naked, and uncaring of it. Spencer knew he could be weird about being naked in front of people, but no one was paying attention, so he ducked out of the gown quickly and got in the water before anyone noticed. 

“Jon!” Brendon called from Ryan’s arms, breaking the surface long enough to shout, “he’s got too many limbs. Come save me. That’s an order,” before Ryan had him wrestled under again. 

“I have to save my Captain,” Jon said dutifully. 

Spencer grinned at him. “Then I’d have to go to Ryan’s aid,” he said. They shared a look and dove into the fray together. It actually turned into RyanBrendon versus JonSpencer, until Gabe jumped in with a war cry, and then it became a free-for-all when everyone joined. 

No one noticed when Spencer and Jon broke off, heading back to shore. They hurried through the trees until everyone was out of sight. His normal inhibitions seemed gone; the sun was warm on his skin, and even once he’d dried, he didn’t put back on his dressing gown. 

The ship was almost eerily silent when they got back. The water was pretty shallow where they’d dropped anchor before taking rowboats to shore. The waves were gentle, barely stirring the hull. 

Jon kissed him the moment their feet hit the deck and they moved slowly toward the cabin. Spencer felt surreal, with the hot planks under his bare feet and the smell of salt in the air, and no sound but the waves against the ship and his lips moving with Jon’s. 

They dropped their clothes on the floor, uncaring, and stumbled through the outer cabin and into Jon’s quarters. They paused along the way to lean against a table here, a wall there, lips searching and hips rubbing together in a slow rhythm. 

Jon closed the door to his room and Spencer pushed him against it, getting on his knees. He barely even registered the discomfort. It was worth it for the way Jon’s breath caught and his hand came up to touch Spencer’s cheek, fingers brushing lightly. Spencer smiled and turned his face into the hand, kissed Jon’s palm. 

He swallowed as much of Jon’s cock as he could, moaning the same moment Jon did. There were parts of gay sex that maybe Spencer enjoyed more than straight sex, and the going down part was definitely one of them. He liked the feel of a cock in his mouth, hard and silky smooth, and the taste was way better, too. Jon was just the right size, not so big that Spencer couldn’t deep throat him, but big enough. 

Jon tilted his hips and his shoulders fell back hard against the door. His hand laced through Spencer’s hair but he didn’t tug or guide, just held on gently. Spencer went down ‘til his nose brushed Jon’s stomach and Jon groaned and shoved his hips forward. 

“Wait,” Jon protested, and tried to pull back. Spencer let him go reluctantly, grinning at the obscene noise his mouth made, letting go. He stood when Jon offered him a hand up. Jon tugged him into a kiss, grinding against Spencer’s hip. 

“I don’t _really_ know how this works with two men,” Jon said, “but thanks to most of my friends I know it _does_.” 

Spencer’s heart gave a little thrill. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice suddenly deep and raw. “It does.” He brought their entwined hands to his lips and sucked Jon’s index and middle fingers into his mouth. Jon’s eyes went wide with surprise. 

Sometime later Spencer was going to have a very humiliating conversation with Travis about what to use for lube, but right now he was a little too excited by the idea to mind. 

They climbed into bed together, rolling until Spencer was on his back, legs spread wide. He led Jon’s fingers between his thighs, guiding until he felt the blunt press against his opening. He urged Jon by the wrist and said, “gently, slowly.” 

Jon was careful, almost reverent, but it still burned like hell. Spencer had never done this without using, like, half a bottle of lube. He let out a hiss and Jon froze, eyes flying to Spencer’s face. “’S’okay,” Spencer gritted out. “Just.” He breathed in deeply and forced himself to relax. Jon held still and it got better. Spencer nodded. “I’m okay. You can…”

But Jon pulled his fingers out, frowning. Spencer made a small sound of frustration. He didn’t _want_ to stop, and he was totally willing to put up with some pain. Then Jon pressed his palms to Spencer’s thighs, spreading him wider, and said, “I could…” He didn’t meet Spencer’s eyes. “Is this okay?” Spencer didn’t have time to answer before Jon replaced his fingers with his mouth. 

Spencer couldn’t stop his high-pitched squeak of pleasure and said quickly, “yes, yes, that is _so okay_ ,” petting at Jon’s hair. Jon’s beard scraped at Spencer’s thighs _almost_ uncomfortably, but his mouth made up for it. Spencer hadn’t been with anyone into rimming. He thought vaguely, wildly, _and he says he doesn’t know how this works_ …

Jon worked him open with his tongue, teasing at first, then slicking inside. When he slipped two fingers back in, Spencer barely noticed until they were in deep, and then he was trying to shove his hips down further, to take more in. “God, _yes_ ,” he growled and Jon bit the inside of his thigh, placed sucking kisses up, up, until his mouth was on Spencer’s cock. “ _Yes_ ,” Spencer sighed. 

Jon licked up the side of Spencer’s cock, swirling his tongue around the head. He sucked just the tip between his lips and added a third finger, working it deep. Spencer didn’t know if it was on purpose or by accident, but Jon’s fingers curved and pressed against his prostate and Spencer saw stars. 

At that moment, Spencer didn’t care if it would hurt. He wanted Jon to fuck him _now_. He pulled at Jon’s hair until he stopped kissing up the side of Spencer’s dick and kissed him on the mouth. Jon’s fingers slipped free of Spencer’s body and he felt empty and desperate. 

Spencer went down on Jon again, wet and sloppy and hungry. When he pulled back, Jon’s eyes were all pupil and his mouth was full where he’d been biting his lip. Spencer laid back and wrapped his legs around Jon’s hips, his feet behind Jon’s thighs, drawing him in. Jon didn’t take much urging. He slid into place easily, arms braced beside Spencer’s head, and pushed in slowly. 

Spencer’s back arched and Jon kissed him through the worst of the pain, until Jon was all the way inside. Then Spencer just felt full. He shifted his hips and it was better. Good, even. “You can,” he whispered against Jon’s mouth. “You can move.” 

Jon nodded, lips just brushing Spencer’s. “I’m just. I like where I am,” Jon said, but he did move. It started out as a slow, dragging, stuttering movement, but when he pushed back, he hit just the right spot. 

Spencer clenched at the sheets, hands moving until he caught Jon’s arms. He let his fingers brush up and close tightly around Jon’s biceps. They flexed under his touch when Jon pulled out again, more steadily. 

Spencer had never been this close to another person before, without a condom, and the lack of lube made him feel raw and exposed. He heard himself making sounds he never would have with another person, unguarded and desperate, begging Jon to go faster, telling him how good he felt. 

They fell into a slow rhythm. Spencer usually liked sex fast, but Jon was so _tender_ , and the look on his face was a revelation. Spencer had never wanted to watch another person fall apart above him, because of him, had never felt this gentle swell and catch of pleasure swooping low in his stomach. 

Jon ducked his head and Spencer lifted his head to meet the kiss halfway, uncaring of the strain on his neck. Jon leaned closer, on his elbows and got his hand between them, fisting around Spencer’s cock. 

It didn’t take much coaxing—Spencer was already so close—he writhed against Jon, pushing down on Jon’s cock and came. Jon’s thrusts went fast and erratic for a second, then his hips snapped tight against Spencer’s ass and Spencer felt a rush of hot _wet_ inside as Jon came. 

Spencer tightened his legs around Jon’s thighs and Jon fell against Spencer’s chest, breathing heavily. “Are you alright?” Jon asked. His lips brushed over Spencer’s skin as he spoke, sending shivers down Spencer’s spine. 

That shocked a burst of laughter out of Spencer. He brought his hand up to brush fondly through Jon’s hair, holding him close. “I am so way better than fine,” Spencer said. 

Jon pushed up on his fists to look at Spencer. He bent close and Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut when he realised Jon meant to kiss the corner of his eye again. He thought that maybe he was never touched so sweetly as this. “You are so strange, Spencer,” Jon whispered. “I don’t understand you.” 

Spencer opened his eyes and just stared into Jon’s for a long moment. He really didn’t want Jon thinking he was crazy, but all the same, he couldn’t _not_ tell Jon the truth. It made his chest ache just to considering keeping it from Jon. It was who Spencer _was_. It felt like lying, even if it was just by omission. 

“Jon, I want to tell you,” Spencer said. He sat up a little and Jon leaned back, pulling out. It stung a little, and the rush of wet between his thighs wasn’t exactly _pleasant_. He’d get used to it, he supposed. 

“You can tell me,” Jon said. He looked so earnest, so unassuming. 

Spencer shook his head. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he said, but he got out of bed on shaky legs. He wrapped himself in a sheet and went to the door, hoping the rest of the crew was still gone. Sure enough, when he got on deck he could see them on the beach in the near distance. He grabbed up his and Jon’s clothing from where they’d dropped it and hurried back. 

When Brendon had given Ryan back his things, Ryan had left Spencer’s on the table in Jon’s room. Spencer gathered up his phone and iPod and went back to bed, dropping them on the covers. Jon scooted closer and picked up the iPod. 

“Are these…some forms of navigational tools?” Jon asked. He was toyed with the iPod and almost dropped it when it lit up. “It keeps doing that,” he muttered, probably mostly to himself. 

Spencer quirked a smile at him. He uncoiled the headphones from around it and put one to Jon’s ear. He took the iPod back from Jon and began to scroll through it. His battery was fully charged, but he still felt a little pang of sadness to think that probably wouldn’t even be long enough to play all the music on it for Jon. 

He didn’t want to start with something that would startle Jon too badly. His thumb circled and circled and finally he lit on The Beatles. He selected the first song, hearing the strains of _Love Me Do_ playing, tinny, from the buds. 

Jon’s eyes went wide and he jerked back so hard he almost fell off the bed. Spencer waited as Jon stared at him, unblinking. He felt like his stomach was dropping to his toes. Then Jon grabbed his wrist and slowly pulled the earbud back to his ear. He listened to the whole song without commenting, and when it ended, shuffle ended up on a They Might Be Giants song, and then Bush, then a Blink 182. 

A video came up next. He didn’t have as many as Ryan—didn’t feel the need to have every video ever made by every band he liked—mostly he just had some really cool ones. It was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. 

Spencer angled the screen so Jon could see it and Jon was so busy listening that it took him a second to realise he could see, too. His eyes fixed on the images and made soft noises of disbelief all throughout, and when they cut into Alice’s body, he gasped out loud. 

“It isn’t real,” Spencer said quickly. 

“Those things in that book,” Jon said slowly. He tore his eyes from the screen to look at Spencer. “They’re not some fairytale.” 

Spencer shook his head. “No,” he agreed. 

“Are there more of those?” Jon asked, when the song had finished and shuffled landed them back on an audio file. He seemed intrigued even by that, whether it was the progress bar or the words, Spencer didn’t know. 

Spencer played some of his favourites, _Tonight Tonight, Sledgehammer, Sugar Water, No Rain_. Then he turned it off. He wanted to save the battery for when Jon might better understand what he was seeing. 

Jon waited, and Spencer wasn’t sure how to start. So he started at the beginning. “I was born in a place called Nevada, in 1987,” he said, and Jon didn’t call him crazy. Spencer sat aside his phone and iPod and climbed into Jon’s arms. 

Jon held him close and didn’t interrupt as Spencer told him—told him everything he could think of—the day he met Ryan, the day they decided to start a band, random stories of public education, the first time he flew in an airplane, and his favourite movie, Ryan ‘borrowing’ his father’s car before he had his license. 

At some point, Jon twined their fingers together, thumbing the sensitive skin between Spencer’s thumb and index finger, and it comforted Spencer, told him to keep talking. 

When Spencer’s words ran out, there was silence for a long time. “Jon?” he said carefully. 

Jon took a deep breath, like he was going to say something, but then he just let it out on a sigh. He brought Spencer’s hand up, kissing the back of it. Spencer’s stomach was aching with anxiety. _Please_ , he thought, and didn’t even know exactly what he wanted. 

Jon tugged at him until they were lying down, Jon still hugging Spencer close, big spoon to Spencer’s little one. He didn’t say anything, though, and it was eating away at Spencer’s insides. Jon huffed a breath and laid his chin on Spencer’s shoulder, brushing their cheeks together. “I don’t know how to understand this,” he said at last. 

Spencer supposed, as far as responses went, Jon’s could have been a lot worse. “I don’t know how to understand being here,” Spencer whispered back. “We—strange things happen sometimes, at sea. Disappearances and things. People talk about time travel or things like that, but you know, no one actually _believes_ that. I don’t—I didn’t—You can think I’m crazy. I might be. I don’t know how else to understand how Ryan and I ended up here.” 

“How did you end up here?” Jon asked softly. 

“Ryan insisted on renting a boat. Neither of us know anything about to operate one, of course, but Ryan gets these ideas in his head...we went out to this place on the beach. Our friend, Pete—look, this just gets crazier, and I don’t understand it—Pete told us about it, and there were met Greta and Gerard and Bill, and they rented us that boat. They said the weather would be fine, but…there was a storm and Ryan and I got knocked out, and when we woke up, we were here.” 

Spencer could hear the frown in Jon’s voice when he spoke. “But how could Bill be here and there both?” Jon asked. 

It was difficult to explain, when Spencer didn’t even really know himself. Just, the more time he spent here, the harder it became to dismiss this all as some strange dream or hallucination. “I don’t know,” Spencer said, resigned. 

“Hey,” Jon said. He kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Hey,” he said again. He leaned in and kissed the corner of Spencer’s mouth until Spencer turned his head and they were kissing and Spencer was so confused. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” Jon whispered. “I don’t _not_ believe you.” 

Which, Spencer noted, was not the same as saying he believed. 

*

Jon was distant the rest of the day. Spencer didn’t really know what he’d expected from telling the truth, but he hadn’t thought it would be this. He was relieved when Ryan came to pester him, forcing him out of Jon’s bed. 

“Please tell me you’re not having _sex_ sex,” Ryan said, when they were walking the deck alone. 

“Jesus, Ryan,” Spencer said. He wasn’t really in the mood. 

“I’m just saying,” Ryan persisted. “Pirates had all sorts of gross STDs.” 

Spencer hadn’t really been thinking about that, but as soon as Ryan said it, Spencer felt his stomach flip unpleasantly. And _seriously_. What the fuck was _wrong_ with him? He’d let Jon fuck him without a goddamn condom. He was not this stupid. Except, apparently, when it came to Jon. 

“Oh my god, Spencer,” Ryan hissed. “You _didn’t_.” 

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t fucking—It won’t happen again,” he said. 

Ryan looked horrified. “I don’t think that the venereal diseases _care_ how many times it happens.” 

“I don’t really need this right now,” Spencer muttered. “Besides, I’m not sure it really matters, here, Ryan. It’s not like we can go get tested, or pick up some condoms at the convenience store. And don’t think I’ve missed you sizing up Brendon.” 

Ryan bit his lip and didn’t say anything for a long time. Spencer let Ryan loop an arm around his waist. He laid his own over Ryan’s shoulders, laying his head on top of Ryan’s. “If you’re—I thought you looked happy, earlier,” Ryan said. “What happened?” “I told Jon about us,” Spencer said. “I think he believes that _I_ believe it, but I don’t think he thinks I know what I’m saying.” 

“Well, can you _blame_ him?” Ryan asked. It was a pointed question, about Spencer’s own disbelief, Spencer knew. He sometimes hated how well Ryan knew him. 

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “I couldn’t not tell him. I don’t know how long I can take this before I convince myself I’ve gone crazy—one second this feels natural, like this is where we belong, and the next it’s like jerking awake and everything’s wrong and horrible—I didn’t want Jon to think I was crazy, or a spy, or whatever.” 

“Good job on that,” Ryan said, tone sarcastic and fond at the same time. It was a gift of Ryan’s, to manage to lace sarcasm with just about any other emotion. 

Brendon came along shortly and drew Ryan away. Ryan gave Spencer an apologetic look as he went, but let Brendon take him. Spencer sighed, leaning his arms on the railing and watching the sea part around the bow of the ship. Good thing neither of them were prone to seasickness. This could have been a lot messier trip. 

Tom came up alongside Spencer quietly, almost startling him, and copied Spencer’s pose. He looked out at the water in silence, and Spencer felt remarkably uncomfortable. “Hey,” Spencer said. 

Tom looked at Spencer from the corner of his eye. “Brendon’s really sweet and innocent,” Tom said. “Everyone knows the only reason he made admiral ever—let alone at his age—was out of desperation and because of who his father is. And Jon’s smart, but he gets these _feelings_ about people and lets himself be swayed.” 

Spencer didn’t say anything. He got the feeling that like Frank, Tom wasn’t going to be convinced by anything Spencer or Ryan could say. He didn’t feel like wasting any more breath. 

“But I’m not going to be charmed by you like everyone else,” Tom continued. “They might forget that you could be spies, but I _won’t_.” 

Maybe a couple of hours ago, Spencer might have found it sweet. Tom was just being protective of Jon the way Spencer would be over Ryan. But since he’d told Jon, and got Jon’s reaction, Spencer wasn’t feeling very generous. He just rolled his eyes and fixed his gaze on the _Mamba_ trying to make out the figures on the deck. 

Tom glared at him, hard. Spencer could practically feel the weight of it. “Patrick’s no fool, either. You can hide behind Jon and Brendon for now, but just know that Patrick will see through your act.” 

“Thanks,” Spencer said tightly, and walked off before Tom could say anything else. He busied himself helping out anyone and everyone who could use him, steering clear of Tom and Jon for the rest of the afternoon. 

Of course, he couldn’t escape them at dinner, but no one else had seemed to notice the strangeness between Jon and Spencer, and they carried on as though everything was alright. 

Towards the end of dinner, Ryan elbowed Brendon sharply in his side and Brendon jumped. “Oh, right,” he said. “Jon, I was thinking we could switch our captives for the evening. You know. Mix things up.” 

Jon looked from Brendon to Spencer and back again, blinking his eyes. He opened his mouth, but Ryan said quickly, “Awesome idea, Brendon. Jon, I totally want to hear more about your cartography.” Ryan widened his eyes imploringly at Spencer. 

“Right,” Spencer said, catching on. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” He smiled at Brendon. Tom glared even more powerfully than he had earlier, and Jon looked confused, and maybe a little hurt. Yeah, well. Spencer felt it, too. 

No one stayed up on deck after dinner. Ryan went directly into Jon’s cabin, as if daring someone to change the plan. Spencer lingered outside Brendon’s door, caught by the expression on Jon’s face.

“Hey,” Jon said, catching Spencer’s arm. “I—” he shook his head, and pushed up on his toes to press a quick, almost chaste kiss to the corner of Spencer’s lips. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” Spencer said. He could see Ryan watching disapprovingly from the door, but whatever. Spencer bent for a longer kiss. 

Jon’s grip tightened on Spencer’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he said, breath warm on Spencer’s mouth. Brendon shifted uncomfortably from behind them and Ryan cleared his throat. 

“Shut up,” Spencer growled at his best friend. 

“You don’t have to— _we_ don’t have to,” Jon said, almost shyly. “We could just…talk some more. Spencer, I want to understand.” Ryan heaved a huge sigh and stomped out of Jon’s room. He grabbed Brendon, who sputtered in protest, and dragged him into his quarters. 

Spencer followed Jon silently into his quarters and sat on the bed, watching Jon pace. It was the tensest he’d ever seen Jon, even when Jon _had_ considered Spencer and Ryan potential spies. 

“You have to understand, Spencer, we’re going to see Patrick tomorrow, and if you tell him something like what you told me—”

“The truth,” Spencer interrupted sourly. 

“If you tell him that,” Jon said, not remarking on the validity of it, “he’s not going to believe you. He’ll think you’re either crazy, or lying, do you understand?” 

“Well, what do you want me to tell him, then?” Spencer asked. “Because whatever else I might tell him _will_ be a lie.” 

“Brendon and I will think of something,” Jon said. “But just…please don’t say anything else about the…Your…” Jon waved a hand that could have meant anything. 

Spencer sighed. His muscles ached and he felt tired and lonely. “Maybe we should have just switched, tonight,” he said. 

Jon stopped pacing to stare at him. He sighed, too, and went over to the bed, kneeling at Spencer’s feet. He laid his hands on Spencer’s knees. “I’m _trying_ to understand,” Jon said. 

Spencer nodded. “I know,” he said. He let his hand drop to Jon’s head, fingers lacing through Jon’s hair. “I know,” he said again. “This isn’t any easier for me to understand than it is for you.” He traced his hand down Jon’s face, touch delicate. Jon tilted his face into the touch, eyes falling shut. Spencer _had_ to kiss him. 

Jon rose into a crouch, pushing Spencer back and Spencer let him, lying flat. Jon crawled on the bed, knees tight around Spencer’s hips. Jon deepened the kiss, but kept it slow. His hand trailed down Spencer’s chest and rose again, pushing Spencer’s shirt up as he went, fingertips rough on Spencer’s skin. 

“I’m trying to understand,” Jon repeated. “I want to so badly, Spencer.” His kisses moved down Spencer’s neck. 

“Jon, we can’t—” Spencer said, pushing at Jon’s chest. “We can’t again, like earlier.” 

Jon pulled away, sitting back on his heels. He frowned down at Spencer. “Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” 

Spencer felt a ridiculous tug at his heart. He had to stop having that reaction to every little thing Jon did, no matter how sweet. “No, it was good, Jon, it was really awesome. But…” he drew a breath, not sure how to proceed. Jon already had his doubts about Spencer’s story. 

“Look, I want to be honest with you Jon, and if you don’t believe it, okay, but I’m not going to lie. In my time there are diseases you can get, from having sex. You can get them now, too, but people didn’t know about them for a long time. In my time you never would have done what we did, not without protection.” 

Jon’s brow furrowed. “It’s alright,” Spencer said quickly. He smoothed his hands up Jon’s chest. “I just don’t think that we should…We can still…there are other ways we can…”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jon said softly. He pulled Spencer back until they were lying side by side, heads on pillows. Part of Spencer wanted to just say to hell with protection and safety, because he just _wanted_ Jon so much. What were the chances that someone as sweet as Jon, so laid back about sex, had fucked enough people to get a vd? 

But Spencer had been stupid enough for an entire lifetime. Besides, Jon got him so turned on, he didn’t really need a lot. “I want to,” Spencer said, reaching a hand in Jon’s pants. “Just touch me.” 

Jon’s hand, hot and tight around Spencer’s cock was enough to get him off. 

*

Port-de-Paix wasn’t quite the bustling centre that Nassau had been, but it was certainly lively. Brendon and Jon had a whispered conversation as the crew dropped anchor and lowered the rowboats. Tom insisted on coming along to keep an eye on things, and they were met at the shore by most of the crew of the _Mamba_ , and Frank, who kept shooting vicious glares their way. 

Spencer’s stomach had been doing flips since he first woke, early in the morning. Jon had stirred with him, pressing kisses in Spencer’s hair and rubbing his back soothingly, but it hadn’t helped. Finally Jon had got up with him and they’d sat sharing Spencer’s headphones, watching videos and listening to music. 

“Who is this Patrick guy?” Spencer asked. 

“We weren’t going to take you to him, at first. Officially, we’re supposed to report any potential spies to Brendon’s father,” Jon said. “Patrick has a lot of money and a lot of information, but he isn’t really part of any chain of command.” Spencer didn’t know if it was better or worse, being taken to Patrick as opposed to being taken to Brendon’s father. He trusted Jon, though. 

Patrick’s home was a large, sprawling mansion on a hill overlooking the city. Banana trees lined the way, men and women working to harvest them. They didn’t look like slaves, which Spencer thought was maybe a good sign. 

They were led into a study, and the man behind the desk didn’t look that intimidating. He had a thin, pale face framed in strawberry blonde hair and pale green eyes. A smile lit is face when his guests entered. His eyes darted over Ryan in his borrowed outfit and his smile wavered slightly, but when his gaze fell on Spencer, his eyes went wide and he shot to his feet. 

“Are you wearing _jeans_?” Patrick sputtered. 

Spencer’s heart started beating faster and he turned to look at Ryan, who was already staring at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “Yes?” Spencer said hesitantly. 

“Please, please. I’ve been here over three years. Tell me something, anything,” Patrick said. 

His words didn’t make any sense, but Ryan seemed to understand. “Um. Barack Obama is our 44th president,” he offered. 

“Oh my god, holy shit,” Patrick said. “That is so fucking awesome. How did you—when did you?” 

“Just a few days ago,” Ryan said in a rush. 

“How?” Patrick said. He scrambled around the desk to go to them. Spencer could feel Jon watching them, but he couldn’t look away from Patrick. “How did you get here?” 

Ryan shrugged helplessly. “We don’t know,” Spencer said. Patrick looked at him again, eyes darting over Spencer’s shirt and jeans. “There was a storm and we woke up here with you _friends_.” He gave a pointed look to Frank. 

“A storm?” Patrick frowned. “Frank, put down the fucking knife, Jesus Christ,” he said dismissively. “There was no storm when I came.” 

“So you’re…you know we’re not fucking _spies_?” Ryan said. 

Patrick laughed. “They can get paranoid. You know. Revolutionary war. I’ve tried to tell them it will all work out in the end.” 

“I hate to interrupt,” Frank growled, “but _The Black Infinity_ never showed up for their rendezvous. And if they aren’t here and they weren’t in Nassau…”

“We saw them,” Ryan said to Patrick. “Pete, and Greta and Gerard. They were there in 2009.” 

“2009,” Patrick echoed dully. “Fuck. Three years. It was 2006 when I disappeared.” Spencer couldn’t imagine being gone that long. “Do you think they somehow went forward?” Patrick asked. 

Spencer shook his head. “Bill and Travis were there, too, but they’re here now,” he said. 

Patrick shook his head and muttered something to himself. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, louder. “There’s some way back…” He went back to his desk, pushing papers over the surface. “There’s some way back.” 

“Patrick,” Jon said. 

“You found them near Nassau?” Patrick asked him. 

“Yes. I recorded the coordinates, near to where we were supposed to meet _The Black Infinity_ …Patrick, what’s going on?” Jon asked. 

“We need to get back there,” Patrick said. “If _The Black Infinity_ went missing near where you came through…I never knew where I came through. I was unconscious, and by the time I came to, I’d been moved away. Fucking _Pete_ never making any goddamn records…”

“He didn’t think you were a spy?” Spencer asked, shooting a look at Brendon and Jon. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “He’s _still_ convinced I’m a goddamned merman,” he said. “Fucker’s always trying to throw me in the water, convinced I’ll grow a tail.” 

Ryan let out a wild, hysterical burst of laughter. “Sounds like Pete,” he said. 

“We thought we were going crazy,” Spencer said. 

“You might get home,” Brendon said softly, speaking for the first time since they’d met Patrick. He stroked Ryan’s arm as he said it, face hesitant and sad. It occurred to Spencer that Ryan must have told Brendon the truth, too. 

Ryan looked at Brendon and back to Patrick, mouth working without making a sound. “Brendon…” he finally managed to whisper.

“Either _The Black Infinity_ went missing due to this rift, or they went missing due to foul play. Either way we should investigate,” Patrick said. “I’d hate for something to happen to Pete.” His tone was sarcastic, but Spencer thought maybe he meant it, anyway. 

Spencer looked cautiously at Jon, who was already watching him. The look in Jon’s eye said he maybe finally believed what Spencer had said, which was nice, but a little insulting, that Jon hadn’t believed until Patrick had confirmed it. 

“We should get back to the ships, then,” Brendon said. “My father is waiting for the information Pete was bringing. When Pete didn’t show, I was sent to collect it myself. You know how impatient my father can get.” 

“I have his information,” Patrick said, and there was just something about the way he said it, biting and sardonic, that just confirmed Patrick was from their own time. It was such a relief to hear that tone coming from someone other than Ryan right now. “It is time sensitive, though, you’re right.” 

Frank, silently fuming until now, burst out, “Patrick, I want to know what the fuck is going on!” 

Patrick touched Frank lightly on the arm. “Don’t get too worried yet, Frank,” he said. “If they say they saw Gerard, then he should be fine.” 

“ _If_ they saw Gerard,” Frank repeated. “I don’t understand why we’re believing them.” 

“Frank,” Patrick said. He didn’t look much older than Spencer or Ryan, really, but there was something in his face and tone of voice that made him sound like a parent who’d had to put up with too many unruly children. Spencer supposed being around Pete and these others could have that effect on people. “They aren’t spies.” 

And that was that. Patrick sent one of his servants to gather some of his things, and went along with Spencer and Ryan back to the ship, walking a bit ahead of the others. Brendon kept close to Ryan’s side, though, unquestioning of anything they said, and though Jon was a few steps behind them, Spencer knew he was listening. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know your names,” Patrick said. 

“Ryan Ross and Spencer Smith,” Ryan said. “How did you end up here? Why didn’t they think _you_ were a spy?” 

“Good timing, I guess,” Patrick said. “It was the beginning of the war, people weren’t as suspicious of everything and everyone. Plus it was Pete who found me, like I said. And I paid pretty good attention in history classes. By the time it became a question of where my loyalties lay, I was able to give information to help the Americans and French against the British.” 

“I told you being an English major was useless,” Spencer said to Ryan. 

“Yes, because your Computer Engineering major has helped us out a lot, back here,” Ryan said wryly. For the first time, it felt alright joking about this, like there was an end in sight. Except…Spencer looked over his shoulder at Jon. 

“And you just want to leave?” Spencer asked Patrick. “I mean, you’ve been here three years. You’ve made friends, right? You just want to go back?” 

“You want to stay?” Patrick countered, dubious. 

“I—” Ryan said, and stopped, blinking. 

“Maybe,” Spencer said, almost a whisper. 

“Seriously?” Patrick asked. “You told me Obama just got elected right? That guy is awesome. I mean, I could understand if you were going back to more Bush or Cheney, or whoever the Republicans put up against Obama, but are you seriously going to tell me you’d rather stick around for the fucking Revolutionary War than go home?” 

“There are other things,” Ryan said defensively, and grabbed blindly for Brendon’s hand. Brendon laced their fingers together. 

Patrick flicked a glance at them. “Would you just leave Pete back here?” Brendon asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the town around them. 

“Maybe we should focus on getting my information to your father,” Patrick said, which wasn’t exactly an answer. 

On the ship, Patrick cornered them to the captain’s cabin, Jon and Brendon watching silently from the sidelines. “Tell me everything I’ve missed,” Patrick said. “What about the war? Israel, Pakistan? Hurricane Katrina, all of it.” 

Ryan was eight different kinds of useless when it came to news and current events, so Spencer answered the questions the best he knew how, outlining all the major events he could remember over the past couple years. It was random, stream of consciousness, leaping from one topic to another—telling about the forced evacuation in the West Bank, the death toll from the war in Iraq, the natural disasters from earthquakes to volcanic eruptions. 

“You make it sound like there’s been nothing but tragedy,” Ryan interrupted, rolling his eyes. Which, coming from Ryan, Spencer thought was pretty rich. Ryan was hands down the most pessimistic person he’d ever met. 

Ryan fished around in his bag for his iPod and Patrick’s eyes got big and wide. “Please,” he said, “music,” and made grabby hands for it. 

Spencer got up and went into Jon’s cabin and wasn’t disappointed when Jon followed close on his heels, shutting the door behind them. Either no one noticed, or no one cared enough to protest. Spencer sat in one of the chairs because he didn’t really feel up to being distracted, which he probably would be if he sat on the bed. 

“If I say I believe you now, you’re going to think it’s only because of Patrick,” Jon said. 

“Yep,” Spencer agreed. 

Jon laid a hand on his shoulder. “I thought you said you were where you wanted to be,” he said. 

Spencer had to think about how to answer that for a long time. He’d said it because it had been true, and he’d been so caught up in Jon that he hadn’t thought about it before letting it slip. But they’d only really known one another a few days. 

“I made myself vulnerable to you enough, already, I think,” Spencer said. 

Jon made a frustrated noise, moving around to face him. “Do you think I haven’t made myself vulnerable to you?” Jon asked. “Brendon and I didn’t have any reason to trust you—you and Ryan fought us every step of the way, and we were just trying to understand—but we trusted you anyway. I would have protected you from Patrick if I’d had to. 

“And I don’t know what you think about me, talking about diseases, but I actually don’t sleep with every attractive person who will have me. In fact, despite the best efforts of a lot of my friends, I hardly sleep with anyone at all—let alone any men. I didn’t have sex with you just for entertainment.” Jon was so generally laid back that seeing him angry was frightening and a little exciting. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, and didn’t shy away when Jon touched his cheek. 

“I am, too,” Jon said. He leaned close, nudging Spencer’s nose aside for a kiss. 

“I wasn’t lying,” Spencer said, “when I said I was where I wanted to be. But I meant—I didn’t think there was a way to get home. I don’t even know if there is now.” 

“That changes things?” Jon asked. He looked so _hurt_. 

“Before I really understood what was going on here, I thought how lonely it must be here, without all the technology and entertainment we have in the twenty-first century,” Spencer began. “Forgetting everything else, if I had to pick between living now and living then, I’d pick then. But, believe it or not, I don’t just sleep with anyone, either.” He sank his hand in Jon’s hair and pressed another kiss to his lips. “I wouldn’t just want to leave you behind.” 

“We couldn’t just come,” Jon said. “The war—”

“I know,” Spencer agreed. “I know. But Patrick’s right, you know. You don’t have to worry about this war. We win it.” He didn’t want to think about what their involvement might do to that. What might happen if Jon and Brendon and the others _did_ go home with them…

As far as Spencer knew, the Revolutionary War hadn’t really been won in the Caribbean, but for all he knew, the _Sea_ or the _Mamba_ might have intercepted some important British ship, or something. Or maybe it wasn’t anything quite so big. Maybe taking them out of their time would change something small, but significant. Didn’t all the time travelling movies warn about changing the timeline? Preventing one’s own birth? 

“We don’t even know there’s a way back,” Spencer said. He didn’t know if he was trying to pacify Jon, or himself. 

*

The trip back to Nassau went more quickly than the journey to Port-de-Paix. The wind was in their favour, blowing northwest toward Florida. Spencer would rather it go more slowly, give him more time to think about things, and what he would do if Patrick really could find a way back to 2009. 

Jon kept Spencer in bed as much as he could, just talking, asking question after question, much like Patrick’s, only about the span of three-hundred and forty years between them. Spencer figured the damage was already done, having shown and told Jon the things he had. He answered everything Jon asked him, as best he could, though he was no historian. 

“It isn’t fair that you shouldn’t be able to see these things,” Spencer said. Jon’s painting was still on his easel, showcasing his interpretation of twentieth century technology. 

“I want to see them,” Jon said. 

And after two days, he said, “I’d go with you. I will, I mean. If there is a way back, I want to go with you.” 

Spencer stroked a hand down Jon’s cheek and pulled him into a kiss. He wanted Jon inside him again, or to be inside Jon, just to be as close as they could be. He settled for their hands and sharing Jon’s breath between hot kisses, tangled in the sheets. 

“I wouldn’t want to be there without you,” Spencer admitted, mouth pressed in the sweaty skin of Jon’s shoulder. He wasn’t good at making declarations—being friends with Ryan Ross hadn’t made him the most emotionally healthy person in the world—but being close to Jon made him want to be better at it. And yes, he realised what a trite motherfucker he was turning into. 

*

Patrick had made all sorts of notes in the three years he’d spent in the past. It hadn’t been easy, Spencer could tell. Without the modern conveniences of libraries and the internet, finding out information was a difficult task. Patrick had hired translators and travelled to several native encampments to gather his data. 

There were plenty of legends surrounding the area; Spencer wasn’t surprised. They were loosely within the Bermuda Triangle. Spencer had never bought it, but Ryan had been intrigued by the theories as a child. Now, Spencer had to reconsider what he knew with all that he’d heard and experienced. 

“There seems to be a pattern, as near as I can tell,” Patrick explained. “Those who speak of having disappeared, of going to strange worlds with fantastic beasts—they are never gone more than a few hours or a couple days at most, before returning. Because of this, most people don’t believe it is an actual, physical transportation. 

“The natives at Talio believe these incidents to be a form of spirit questing. They have a lot of stories, which led me to believe that the point must be close to their island. But considering that it is something of an honour to experience the transition, a lot of the stories could be faked.” 

Ryan and Patrick had a grand time recounting their knowledge of the Triangle, Patrick from the past, Ryan from what he remembered of the present. Spencer was sure how much good any of it would do them, if they really wanted to get home. 

“All I can figure,” Patrick said, “is that there are two sorts of paths—the direct path, where any one point in time is connected to some other specific point in time. These are the paths used when travelling through the first time. From then on, it seems like there is a second path—when returning, you are taken to the time from which you left. So I would go back three years ago, and you would go back a week ago.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Spencer asked. “I’m not opposed to going home, but I don’t want to end up in some other time.” 

“The natives are the best source of information I’ve been able to find,” Patrick said. “And those who don’t disappear forever come back within hours of having gone out.” 

“But you said yourself that those stories could be lies,” Spencer argued. 

“I’m willing to risk it,” Patrick said. “I’m not going to be just another story of some unexplained disappearance in the Caribbean. It might be a good idea to bring your ship along, though. I think it might work as a connection between the two times.” 

“The ship isn’t going to do us much good,” Ryan said. “It’s completely dead.” 

“We could probably tow it back with us, though,” Brendon said. “We got it to port without a problem.” 

Spencer didn’t really see the point. “It was Greta who rented it to us,” he pointed out. 

“I’d watch out for Greta,” Brendon teased. “She might kick your ass for losing her ship.” 

“I’ll protect you,” Jon said, squeezing Spencer tighter in his arms. They were at the bow of the _Sea_ , watching the sun dip ever lower on the horizon. 

“My big strong hero,” Spencer said dryly. He noted the way Brendon and Ryan were sitting close, but not quite touching anywhere except their hands. Ryan’s finger occasionally brushed over Brendon’s. Ryan wasn’t usually the coy sort about things, but he seemed to be playing that role with Brendon. If Ryan wasn’t such a jaded, emo dickhead, Spencer would think it was sweet. 

It wasn’t until they were signalled by the _Mamba_ and Sisky came down from the nest to tell them there was British ship on the horizon that Spencer even remembered there was a war going on. It had been said enough times, but there hadn’t been any real proof of it. 

They had passed a few ships on their way to Port-de-Paix, but they had all been American and French vessels. There had been one unmarked vessel that had stood down when approached by the _Sea_ and the _Mamba_ and had turned out to be an individually owned pleasure ship. 

Jon disentangled himself with one last kiss pressed to Spencer’s temple and he and Brendon hurried down to Tom, who was talking with Sisky. The _Mamba_ was slowing and it only took a few moments for the _Sea_ to draw up alongside it. 

“What’s going on?” Ryan demanded. Spencer just hung back, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. 

“You’ll stay here with Michael and Patrick,” Brendon said dismissively over his shoulder. 

“Wait, what?” Spencer said, hurrying forward. “You want us to _stay here_?” 

“They’re heavily armed,” Jon said, quick and distracted. “The _Mamba_ is better armed than the _Sea_ , and without the _Infinity_ , it’s better if we leave the _Sea_ behind. You can get away, if necessary.” 

“Get away?” Ryan asked, voice going high-pitched. “We don’t _want_ to get away. What do you mean, get away?” 

“Ryan,” Brendon said softly, catching his hands. “Just listen to what Patrick and Michael say.” 

Ryan shook his head frantically. “This is stupid. You can’t just expect us to wait while you go off to fight them. And who tries to pilot ships this size with eight fucking people? You can’t just…there are sixteen of you! That ship probably has hundreds of men.” 

If Spencer hadn’t been nervous before, Ryan’s little tantrum would have definitely done the trick. Brendon brushed back Ryan’s hair from his face and leaned in to lay a soft kiss on his lips and Ryan’s breath caught on whatever else he was going to say. Spencer turned away, feeling strange watching it. Jon caught his hand. 

“Tell me you’ll do what Patrick and Michael say,” Jon said. 

“Is Ryan right? Will they have that many men?” Spencer asked. 

Jon smiled. “It won’t matter how many men they have,” he said, and he sounded confident, not like he was just trying to pacify Spencer. “We have Frank and the Butcher, and the grapeshot on William’s ship will do most of the work for us.” 

Spencer didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t really have time to ask. Jon kissed him quickly, on the corner of his mouth, and darted off for the _Mamba_. “I don’t—I don’t know what that means,” he said softly. 

Ryan grabbed his hand, drawing him nearer. “This is so stupid,” he was muttering. “I don’t care how amazing any of them are, the odds just _aren’t_ in their favour. Loading cannons take manpower. The _Mamba_ could have the best cannons in the world, but if they can’t get them loaded in time…”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Patrick said. “They _are_ good at what they do. They have been in plenty of battles. Do you think they’d still be travelling in parties the size they do, if they weren’t good at it?” 

“I don’t care!” Ryan snapped. “This is stupid. I want to go home.” He put his face in Spencer’s neck and Spencer drew him close. 

“Michael,” Patrick called, “take us northeast around Long Island.” 

“Wait,” Spencer said. “They said we could get away if necessary.” 

“It is necessary,” Patrick said calmly. “They’ll meet us at Black Point. They’ll be fine.” 

Spencer meant to argue the point, but there was a deafening crack of cannon fire and he ran to the stern of the ship instead. The _Sea_ was turning, cutting away from the _Mamba_ , but they weren’t so far off. 

“The _Mamba_ is faster than them,” Michael said. “They’ll be fine.” 

Ryan stood at Spencer’s side as Spencer tried to make sense of what was going on. The other ship was still so far away it was hardly a speck on the horizon. Certainly that particular shot couldn’t have reached it. 

“Grapeshot is really good,” Ryan said after a long time. “It should take out a lot of the other crew before they’re close enough for the other ship to get them. As long as the other ship doesn’t have any grapeshot of their own.” 

“You’re doing a great job cheering me up, Ross,” Spencer said. He tried to sound joking, but was afraid it mostly came out strained. 

The night grew darker, making the view more difficult, and the intermittent cannon fire grew closer and closer together. “I’m ready to wake up back in 2009, now,” Spencer said. 

“That was the first time Brendon kissed me,” Ryan murmured. 

“It won’t be the last,” Spencer said, with more conviction. 

“Yeah,” Ryan said, blandly. There was another loud crack followed by popping sounds, like fireworks, and then a flare of light lit up the sky. 

Spencer didn’t actually believe they were leaving until an island loomed closer, cutting them off from the battle altogether. He decided he didn’t like Patrick. All concerned about getting home, no matter what it meant for everyone else. 

They waited at Black Point until the early hours of the morning, Ryan held tight to Spencer’s chest as the sun began to rise, painting the water orange and red and yellow. “We have to go back for them,” Spencer said to Patrick, who had the good grace to look nervous and guilty. He didn’t argue the point. 

It didn’t do them any good. The water near where the battle had taken place was foaming and littered with planks of wood and bobbing barrels. There were almost a dozen bodies floating among the wreckage, and Spencer’s heart got lodged in his throat as Patrick dropped a row boat to go around and check them. He didn’t feel much better to know none of them were his friends. They were still dead people, and this was so fucked up. Spencer didn’t want to think about people dying. 

“This means they won, then,” Spencer said decisively. No one said anything, but Patrick’s grim look and Ryan’s paleness spoke volumes. 

“We should go get your ship,” Patrick said. 

“I don’t care about our fucking ship,” Spencer snapped. “You can have it, okay? Go home, what the fuck ever. We’re not going anywhere, especially until we know what happened to Jon and Brendon.” Ryan squeezed Spencer’s hand tightly in solidarity. 

Patrick’s expression softened. “Look, I’m not…I might be able to figure out what’s wrong with it, and searching for the _Mamba_ would be a lot easier with that ship than with anything we can get here. And besides, Nassau is their home port these days; Brendon’s father is there. If anyone came to their aid, that is where they would have been taken.” 

Spencer still wasn’t sure he liked the guy, but he gave in for now. “If he can fix it,” Ryan said under his breath, after Patrick and Michael had gone off to take care of setting the course or whatever, “I say we take it and leave him there. Look for them ourselves.” 

It almost felt familiar, watching Nassau draw ever closer. The sun had finally risen entirely and in the distance the water along the docks shone almost blindingly. There was no sign of the _Mamba_ , which was larger by far than any of the ships in port. 

Patrick had a quiet conversation with a young boy at the docks, when they disembarked. “I don’t know how much I’ve messed up, giving information like this,” he said, looking vaguely worried about it. “But I also don’t know if maybe I’m supposed to give them this information. Like maybe I always came back in time and helped…”

Spencer might be concerned except Patrick had been back here a while and the future had seemed just fine when he’d left it. It was a sort of conundrum that Ryan no doubt appreciated trying to figure out, but just made Spencer’s head hurt. 

“I have to go speak with Brendon’s father,” Patrick said, “and then we can take a look at your ship. It’s docked to the southeast. I’ll take you there when I get back.” He was distracted, maybe something to do with the big, hulking man in uniform eyeing him expectantly. 

Ryan was practically vibrating with tension, and as soon as Patrick had disappeared into the crowd, he sprang into action. “We should see the boat for ourselves,” he said, tugging on Spencer’s arm. 

Spencer didn’t take much persuading, letting Ryan lead the way down the shore. Michael jogged after them, looking concerned. “Patrick’s not going to be too happy about this,” he said, but didn’t try to dissuade them. Spencer figured he was probably pretty worried, too. 

The boat was at a small, quiet dock separated from the other by a line of tropical trees and overgrown bushes. It was probably for the best. Anyone could see that the boat didn’t belong, metal glistening under the sunlight. There were three men in a small shed guarding the dock, but after Michael spoke to them, they waved Spencer and Ryan ahead. 

“They’ve repaired your sails,” Michael told them, “and all but the superficial damage to the hull. There were some questions about what was found in the cabin…”

“I bet,” Spencer remarked dryly. He led the way down the steps. The cabin smelled musty and sour and the bed was a mess of mouldy, rumpled sheets. Unsurprisingly, the electrical components were useless, but Spencer remembered Bill saying something about an auxiliary power source than ran on gasoline. 

“No wonder they thought you were spies,” Michael said softly. Ryan shot him a sharp look and Michael held up his hands. “I’m just saying that this is really strange. What is all of this?” 

Spencer looked to Ryan who shrugged. “I promise I’ll explain it all sometime when we’ve got everyone back safely.” 

“So…what you looking for?” Michael asked. “The sails are good. We could take this out, as soon as Patrick get’s back.” 

“There should be a container somewhere,” Ryan said. He gestured with his hands, approximating the size. “Red, with a spout.” Then he added sidelong to Spencer, “Did they have gasoline in the 18th century? Could we find some?” 

Spencer was pretty sure they _didn’t_ have any, and even if they did, he doubted it would be in the form they needed to power the engine. He didn’t say as much. “There should be some around here somewhere.” 

They searched in silence, tearing apart the lower cabin and bedroom area, pulling drawers out of the dresser, going through the built in cabinets lining the walls, searching under the sink in the bathroom. There wasn’t anything useful to be found—lots of extra blankets, first aid kits, and rations, but nothing that would pilot the boat. 

“What are you guys doing?” Patrick’s voice called from the deck. He sounded annoyed. “I told you I’d bring you myself.” 

Spencer pushed off his heels to his feet, giving up his search in the drawers under the bed and went to the stairs. “We’re not particularly interested in your help,” Spencer said. Ryan bumped against Spencer’s shoulder and shot Patrick a glare. 

Patrick sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m worried about them too, you know.” 

“Could have fooled us,” Ryan snapped. He stomped up the steps. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. This thing is dead. You can’t use it to get back.” 

“Hey, is this what you guys were talking about?” Michael asks, coming up the stairs, gas canister in hand. “I think it got moved around in the storm. It was lodged between the wall and the table.” 

There was a moment of silence and Spencer glared at Michael. “If this ship is going anywhere, it’s going to look for the _Mamba_ , not your damn time rip or whatever.” 

“Fine. I said we would,” Patrick said. He didn’t look happy about it, a pissy look twisting his mouth. “But I still don’t understand why you want to be stuck back here.” 

“I don’t understand how you can be such a heartless asshole,” Ryan shot back. “Fuck, you’ve been here _years_. These people are your _friends_.” 

Patrick’s nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything. He spun on his heel and stormed away from them, crossing his arms and staring out over the horizon. Michael shifted uncomfortably, holding the gasoline canister at his side. 

“Okay,” Spencer said, and took a deep breath. He turned to Michael. “If they’re not here and they’re not at Black Point, where else could they be?” 

“There’s a place on Long Island. To the northeast. It’s really small, a lot of pirates use it as an outpost,” Michael said. “I don’t know if they’d risk taking the _Mamba_ there, but if they were badly damaged, they might not have had a choice…”

Spencer felt lost without someone else calling the shots. He was used to making decisions and being in charge in his own time, but here he had no idea what he was doing. It had been easy, up to this point, to leave it up to the actual sailors. 

It wasn’t as though he had any choice, though. Ryan was a step away from hysterics, Spencer knew, and Patrick wasn’t going to be much help. “Okay,” Spencer said, and took a deep breath. “Okay, so, let’s go there.” 

Michael looked dubious. “You want to take this ship _there_? Do you have any weapons?” 

“No, we don’t have any fucking weapons,” Spencer snapped. “What do you want us to do? Take the _Sea_? Even if you and Patrick know how to load weapons and steer or whatever, we _don’t_. I think we’re better off with this. It’s smaller, and it’s faster.” 

“He’s right,” Patrick said. He turned back to them. “We’ll look for them. But at some point I’m _going_ to use this ship to get home.” 

Spencer didn’t say anything, because he supposed it didn’t need any further discussion. They’d find Jon and Brendon and the others and then Patrick could have the fucking boat, for all he cared. He just wanted to be back in Jon’s cabin on the _Sea_ with Jon, and nothing from the future seemed very appealing on comparison. 

* The sailboat of Greta’s moved much more quickly than either of the other ships, and Michael and Patrick actually knew how to use it. Michael had brought a tonne of navigational maps and devices from the _Sea_ , and Patrick spent half the morning messing around with the engine and the control panel. 

He’d come up greasy and sweaty, saying he’d managed to jerry-rig the engine and it should be good for at least a couple of hours of travel, should they need it. Everyone had agreed to save the gasoline in case of emergency and. 

They were all worn out from the previous night and the waters were turbulent, which just added to the tension. Michael said it looked like a storm was coming, which seemed to excite Patrick and made Spencer suspicious. As the morning bled into afternoon, the waters grew choppier and the sky dark, clouds heavy and low in the sky. 

“We should find some place to lay anchor,” Michael said, and Spencer hadn’t realised how crazy the wind got until he had to shout to be heard over it. 

“Where can we go?” he asked. 

“We’re close to Black Point,” Michael shouted back, eyes squinted against the wind. 

Spencer felt a rising desperation, something close to déjà-vu, all of this too familiar and wrong, and he wasn’t _about_ to get drawn back to his own time, not now, not when he had no idea where Jon was, or if he was even alive. 

“Take us there, then,” Spencer decided. “I’ll turn on the engine.” It probably wasn’t the wisest idea, using the gas now, and who knew how long it would last them, but he was willing to risk it. 

“You can’t do that,” Patrick protested, fitfully pushing his windswept hair out of his face, following Spencer down the stairs. “You can’t use that now.” 

“I’m not going to fight you over this,” Spencer said, and stood at his full height, towering over Patrick. “We’re not going to get stuck in a storm.” 

“Spence!” Ryan called from above, voice tight with anxiety and something else. “Spencer, Patrick!” 

Spencer spared Patrick one last look before taking off upstairs. They were drawing near to a ship in the distance and it looked worse for the wear, sails tattered, centre mast snapped and hanging at an angle. 

“Spence,” Ryan said, grabbing his arm, “Michael says it’s the—”

“It’s _The Black Infinity_ ,” Patrick interrupted, voice almost reverent. “Michael…”

“They’re listing starboard, looks like they’ve taken on a lot of water. Storm’s coming from the southeast,” Michael said. “They’re probably headed for Black Point.” 

When Spencer went to start the engine the second time, Patrick didn’t try to stop him. Michael looked startled at the sudden speed but he handled it pretty well, and what might have taken them a half hour otherwise had them pulling up alongside the _Infinity_ in a couple minutes. 

Spencer felt dizzy with relief, spotting familiar faces leaning over to greet them—Bill, Travis, and Pete. “Pete!” Ryan called, laughing in disbelief and delight. “Pete, you crazy motherfucker, I’m going to kick your ass.” 

Pete gave him a slightly bewildered look. “Did I do something to you when I was drunk?” he asked. 

“That your magic spy ship?” Bill asked dubiously. 

Spencer ignored him. “Where’s Jon?” he asked, surveying the crowd gathered on the deck. There was Gerard with Frank hovering close by and Greta, who didn’t look so sweet and cuddly in her pirate gear. It was kind of hot, to be honest. The three bartenders Alex were all there, too, and a big guy covered in tattoos. 

“Jon’s not here,” Bill said. He crossed his arms and was biting his lip nervously. “They…Some of them stayed with the _Mamba_. Gabe, Jon, Brendon, Tom, Ryland, Victoria, Adam and the Butcher. We got separated by the storm. We were taking on water and they pulled ahead of us and then…they just sort of…Disappeared. It was dark, you know, and they must have got too far ahead of us.” 

“They just beat us to the Point, babe,” Travis said, putting an arm around Bill’s waist and drawing him close. The look Ryan gave Spencer said he was thinking just what Spencer was, and it wasn’t good. 

Pete grabbed the rope ladder and flung it and himself over the side of the _Infinity_ , quickly shimmying down to the sailboat and landed with a thump on the deck. He immediately set on Patrick, covering his face in kisses, clinging to Patrick’s neck. “Jesus, Pete, get off,” Patrick said, but it sounded more like _thank god you’re alive, I love you_. 

“It’s getting really dark,” Michael said uncertainly, and yeah, it really was. Like, unnaturally dark. Even with the storm it was still early afternoon, but darkness was creeping in thick and fast. 

Rain began to fall, warm and gentle, but if the dark horizon was any indication, it wasn’t going to stay that way for long. “We need to get to land,” Pete said. “We’ll have to meet them after the storm has passed. Talio is just to the west. They should be okay with us anchoring there, as many times as we have in the past.” 

“Talio,” Ryan echoed. “No. No, we can’t go there.” 

“We don’t have any _choice_ ,” Patrick said. “I get that you want to find them, but right now it’s suicide to try to rough this out, with this little boat and the _Infinity_ in the condition it’s in.” 

“We’re never going to make it before that storm hits us,” Gerard called over the roar of the wind. “Talio is at least twenty miles off.” 

“It’s the closest,” Pete shouted back. He started back up the ladder, letting Travis and Bill pull him the last few feet as the wind buffeted him against the side of the ship. “Come on, Patrick.” 

Patrick looked torn, eyeing the ladder like it held the answer to life itself. A wave drew the ships apart and back together again and Pete shook his head. “Don’t risk it,” he said, and Patrick looked like he _wanted_ to risk it. 

“I thought this is what you wanted,” Ryan hissed, as the two ships headed for Talio, their sailboat in the lead. 

Patrick’s lips set in a grim line. “It is,” he said, and Ryan fell silent, suddenly contrite. 

It happened suddenly, and without warning. One minute the rain was light and the waves swelled high but gently, and the next the rain was slapping against the deck, waves tossing them roughly from side to side. The darkness pressed in closer and heavier, until Spencer couldn’t even see the _Infinity_ any more. 

“Maybe we should turn around,” Spencer said. “We shouldn’t lose them.” 

Michael was distracted trying to keep the wheel on course and tossing his wet hair back from his face. “We can’t turn around now,” he said. “You should go below deck and hold on.” 

Ryan was already below deck, sitting at the bench behind the table. He’d covered all the surrounding hard surfaces in the extra blankets and was gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles had gone white. 

“How did they do this all the damn time?” Spencer asked, trying to keep his voice light. 

“This is just like before,” Ryan whispered, words almost indistinguishable over the sounds of the storm. 

“I know,” Spencer said. He slid into the seat beside Ryan, putting his hand over Ryan’s. 

“I don’t want to go back. Brendon, he’s…” Ryan trailed off, blinking furiously, and looked away, chin tucked into his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave.” 

There was a cry from the deck above, distressed and cut off abruptly when the ship banked hard to the side. Ryan gave Spencer a startled look and they both slid free from their seats, scrambling for the stairs. 

Michael was still at the helm, clinging desperately. “It’s Patrick,” he said. “He went over.” 

Ryan gasped and Spencer felt something like horror in the pit of his stomach. “Where?” he shouted and he and Ryan ran when Michael pointed. 

There was nothing, only the waves, dark and turbulent, disappearing into the darkness. “Oh my god, oh my god,” Ryan chanted. “Spencer, he’s…he’s not…” He ran towards the back of the boat, clinging to the railing, searching frantically and Spencer followed, but there was nothing to see. 

Another wave hit them and Spencer held tight to the railing, felt like his arm was being jerked from the socket. He cried out in pain and let go purely out of shock. Ryan reached for him, pulled him close and they held onto the railing together, arms tangled. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” Ryan said. “This is all my fault, this trip, the boat, we’re going to fucking die.” 

“No, we’re not,” Spencer said, shaking him. “We’re not going to die, Ryan.” 

The waves grew stronger, came faster, and then Michael shouted something Spencer couldn’t understand, but when he looked the wheel was spinning freely and Michael was nowhere in sight. 

It all seemed inevitable and familiar when a wave finally tore Ryan away from Spencer’s side. He saw Ryan tumbling down the stairs, landing at an odd angle. Spencer went after him, waves pushing him on, making him slip and stumble down. He fell heavily at Ryan’s side, lifting his head out of the water collecting in the cabin. Ryan was breathing, but there was blood on his face, coming from a cut above his ear. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Spencer said, scrambling to lift Ryan and get him settled on the bench, cushioning him on both sides with more blankets. He was torn between going back on the deck to try and get them to land and staying to make sure nothing else happened to Ryan when the door slammed shut. 

The ship was tilting at a dangerous angle but Spencer managed to pull himself over, tugging to no avail. The water wasn’t that high. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to open the door. He fell heavily against it, panting and shaking and fighting the urge to break into hysterical tears. 

Patrick had drowned. Michael probably, too, and Ryan was bleeding from his head, unconscious. This was _not_ Spencer’s life. They _were_ going to die. In the fucking 18th century, and no one would ever know or care. 

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Just _stopped_. The rain ceased, the wind stopped roaring, the boat settled on gentle waves. Sunlight was peeking through the windows. 

Spencer struggled to his feet, feeling heavy and weighed down by the water that came to mid-shin. He tried the door again and it opened outward just a few inches. He gave up on it, searching through the mess of the cabin for the first aid kit he’d seen earlier to tend to Ryan. 

By the time he uncovered it from the mess and made it back to Ryan’s side, Ryan was stirring, holding his head and grumbling under his breath. Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Don’t sit up yet,” he said, and laid gentle fingers on Ryan’s cheek, turning his head. 

Ryan hissed in a breath. “Fuck, that hurts like a motherfucker.” 

Spencer laughed, an edge of hysteria in it. “Yeah…” he poured probably too much antiseptic over the area, dabbing with a cotton swab. Ryan gritted his teeth against the pain and waited in silence until Spencer had finished and placed a bandage over the wound. 

“Are you guys alive down there?” Michael called and Spencer jumped to his feet, muscles screaming in protest. 

“Michael, you alright?” There was a sound of wood scraping heavily on wood and then Michael stood in the opened doorway. 

“Patrick?” Ryan asked hopefully, sitting up slowly. 

Michael’s expression was answer enough, but he shook his head ‘no.’ 

“What do we do now?” Spencer asked wearily. “Do we head to Talio? Or do we go to Black Point?” 

“I’m not a navigator, I’m not in command. I don’t make these decisions,” Michael said a little helplessly. “I don’t know what we do now. We’re going to have to stay put until I can figure out where we even are.” 

Figuring out where they were was easier said than done. Michael knew a fair big about navigation—even though it wasn’t his job he’d picked it up just from being on a ship. But he said none of the information he was coming up with made any sense. 

Spencer didn’t know how much time had passed since the storm began but it seemed to be late afternoon. While Michael went over the charts, Spencer set about organising the cabin, rooting out the food rations. There were plenty, but not a lot of water, which was worrisome. 

Michael decided on heading to the northwest, towards Florida, saying he couldn’t be sure of their exact location and it was the safest bet. It was slow going, their sails torn in pieces and Spencer was unwilling to use the gas right now. 

Ryan was pale and too dizzy to do much other than lie around. Spencer stayed with him, keeping him from falling asleep. Below deck, he almost didn’t register the sound he was wearing from above until it persisted for several minutes. A distant, faint buzz that was growing closer. He went to the window, straining to hear better. 

“Spencer,” Michael called. 

Ryan grabbed Spencer’s wrist as he turned to go. “That’s an engine,” he said. 

“I’ll be right back,” Spencer said. 

“Like hell,” Ryan said. “Take me up there with you.” 

There was a speed boat drawing near, when Spencer managed to get Ryan up the stairs. He saw the familiar markings of the Coast Guard and felt a swoop in his stomach, as realisation fell over him. They were back. Jon and Brendon and everyone else were gone. His knees threatened to give out, but he was supporting Ryan, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“Need a tow?” a woman called, grinning at them. “Good thing you guys sent out that distress call before the storm got really bad.” 

Spencer didn’t remember sending out a distress call, but it had been days ago and he’d been randomly pushing buttons. Or maybe Greta had done it for them. Thinking of Greta and all the other things it brought to mind—Pete, Travis, Gerard and Bill, Spencer suddenly, urgently wanted to get to shore. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “I think my friends might need medical attention. We had another friend, he went overboard during the storm.” 

The woman nodded, turning to the two men standing alongside her. In a matter of minutes they had Michael, Ryan and Spencer on the speedboat and one of the men on the sailboat, and were heading back to shore while two women and a man left on speeders to check out the area. 

“They’re looking for your friend, and two more boats are on the way,” one of the men told them. Michael did his best to give them an idea of where they’d been when it happened, but Spencer could tell by the way the officers were acting that no one was holding out any hope. 

There was a medic on the boat who bandaged Michael’s wrist, diagnosed as a sprain, and proclaimed Ryan to have a very mild concussion. When they reached the shore, he tried to convince Ryan to have an MRI but Ryan seemed to be thinking the same thing as Spencer about Greta and the others, and shrugged it off. 

An officer took all the information they could give about Patrick, which was frustratingly little. Spencer couldn’t remember if he’d ever even been told Patrick’s last name, and even if he had, it wasn’t like he could just give the name of a person who’d been missing for years. Ryan managed to come up with a pretty convincing lie about meeting him in Nassau a couple days before and deciding to go in on renting the boat together, since it was cheaper that way. 

“The rental company might have more information,” Spencer said apologetically. 

“Guys,” Michael said, when they were back on land and away from the Coast Guard. His voice was blank but his eyes spoke volumes. Spencer was really grateful Michael hadn’t said anything around the military. 

“I know,” Spencer said. “We felt about the same way when we first ran across you guys. This is Nassau now. 

“Now?” Michael echoed. 

“Look, this is crazy, and you’re not going to get used to it anytime soon. But you know how we said we’d seen Gerard and Greta?” Ryan asked. “This is where we saw them. Maybe they got pulled through, too.” 

“Pulled through?” Michael asked. 

Spencer sighed. “Come on. We’ll explain everything, but right now we have to see if we can find Greta or Pete or someone.” 

Michael went along with them willingly, staring at every little thing as they went, from the women on the beach in their tiny bikinis, to the volleyball games, to the cars rumbling alongside the boardwalk. “I thought you guys were…I didn’t realise you were…This can’t be real,” he finished at last. “Patrick was making that stuff up.” 

Spencer explained the best he could, filling in what they hadn’t discussed on the _Sea_ , when Patrick was planning their return. For all his protests, and his look of astonishment, Michael seemed to take it in fairly well. 

As they neared the surfboard shop, the rental shop came into view, and now Spencer could see, quite clearly, that what he had thought was a façade before was actually part of the hull of the _Infinity_ , fitted around the exterior of the shop. Spencer’s heart beat faster at the sight and Ryan hurried ahead. 

The door was locked and the sign, written and decorated in Gerard’s hand, read _closed_. Undeterred, Ryan hurried into the surfboard shop. Spencer and Michael followed closely, in time to see Ryan accost one of the salespeople. Michael was immediately entranced by the colourful surfboards at the entrance and Spencer figured it was safe enough to leave him there. 

“Excuse me,” Ryan said, “but we’re looking for some of the people who work next door. Maybe you could help. Do you know Greta or Bill?” 

The guy frowned, taking them in. For the first time, Spencer appreciated the fact that he was wearing the same clothes he had been for over a week, while Michael and Ryan looked like extras from some low budget pirate movie. 

“There’s no Greta or Bill that work next door,” the guy said at length. “Mikey answers the phones, and Brian and Bob do most of the office work, when they’re not out on tours.” 

“Bob?” Ryan said, jumping at the name. “Tiny, skinny little guy with red hair? About so tall?” He held up a hand to indicate. 

The guy’s frown grew. “About this tall,” he said, indicating a much taller height. “Blonde hair, could totally break you in half.” 

Ryan’s face fell and he wrung his hands. Spencer stepped in. “Look, they weren’t there this morning. There was a woman, Greta, and—”

“Man, they were closed all day today. Mikey’s in Florida for some concert and everyone else had a big group of tourists they were taking care of all week. I came in at noon and the office was closed.” 

“We were there!” Ryan protested. “This morning, around ten. The place was open. They said all their boats were rented out except one.” 

The guy’s brows drew close together. “They don’t rent out boats…”

“Wha…yo—” Ryan sputtered and Spencer tugged him away. “Spence!” 

“I know,” Spencer said. “Come on. Let’s just call Pete.” 

They didn’t have their phones, but someone on the tour was bound to have Pete’s number. They collected Michael and ushered him back to the hotel. The sun was low in the sky when they returned and there was a party on the beach, live music drifting up from the sand. 

Most of the group had gathered there and they waved happily to Spencer and Ryan when they neared. No one seemed to have Pete’s number, which was just ridiculous, but one woman did have a flier in her purse that had the number of the company for which Pete worked. 

As soon as they got to their suite, Michael was distracted by the bathroom, messing around with the faucets and he kept flushing the toilet, after Ryan showed him how to use it. “This is bloody awesome,” he told them sincerely, and Spencer had to smile at that. 

Spencer called the number which rang three times before kicking over to an answering machine for PB and J enterprises. The name of the company on the sheet was Tropical Sunrise Condominiums, which Spencer supposed could be a subsidiary of PB and J enterprises, but this was getting seriously weird. He dialled down to the front desk. 

“We’re looking for Pete,” he said, for the fifth time, when the woman didn’t seem to understand. “The guy who picks us up every morning for the tour shit. The guy who was in charge of booking all our rooms. The guy from the condo company, selling the timeshares.” 

“I’m sorry, Mister Smith,” the woman said, voice sugary sweet and entirely insincere. “Your tour isn’t part of any timeshare package. Your rooms have been paid for by a private party.” 

“What private party?” Spencer demanded. 

“We can’t just give that sort of information out,” the woman said. 

“But what about the timeshare seminar we attended? And all those people at the timeshare party down on the beach?” Spencer asked. 

There was the sound of fingers clicking on keys and the woman said, “I’m sorry, Mister Smith, but your name isn’t on the list for that programme.” 

Forty minutes, a trip downstairs and two conversations with hotel managers later, the only information they could get was that their rooms had been paid for by a Mister J. Walker. 

They went back onto the beach and managed to hunt down a couple of the guys who’d been at the timeshare seminar, working to sell units. “Oh yeah,” one of the guys said, squinting at Spencer, “you’re the guys who showed up and listened to our whole spiel didn’t even have to be there.” 

“What about Pete?” Spencer said. The sand felt unsteady under his feet, ready to give way any second. 

“Pete?” one of the women said. “Your friend who knows all the local places?” 

“Our…our _friend_?” Ryan said. “He works for the company!” 

The timeshare guys shared a look before turning back to Ryan. “There’s no Pete at this branch,” one said, after a pause. 

“I’m going to kick Pete’s ass so fucking hard,” Ryan muttered, when they got back to their room. 

Michael was passed out on Spencer’s bed, freshly showered and borrowing some of Spencer’s pjs. He didn’t look out of place in them. Spencer felt vaguely bad about dragging Michael with them, and could only hope that Michael would be okay in the present. Spencer was still trying to figure out how they were going to get Michael back to New York, if necessary, because they couldn’t leave him here by himself. 

Spencer wasn’t letting himself think about Patrick at all, because if he did, he might break down or something. Yeah, the guy had been an asshole, but dying—drowning—that wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone. And he couldn’t imagine what Patrick had been through in three years. There was no saying Spencer wouldn’t be the same, after that much time spent in the past. 

Ryan showered, and then Spencer, and they got dressed in fresh clothes before deciding to head down to the club. Michael was dead to the world, not that Spencer could blame him. He wanted to pass out, too, felt like it had been days since he’d slept, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, they ordered room service for Michael and left him a note to stay put. 

Night had fallen entirely when they made their way out onto the crowded city streets. They’d only been gone about a week, and only a few hours had passed here, but it felt so much longer. Spencer was a sort of stunned silent by all the lights and noises and the people pressing in on all sides. If it was so bad for him and he had lived with this his whole life, how weird must it be for Michael? 

It was still fairly early, but The Littlest Mermaid opened at lunch time and stayed open throughout the evening, even when it was dead. The bouncer at the door wasn’t one they’d seen before, and Spencer was pretty familiar with them by now, the way they instantly let Pete in on sight. This guy was big and dangerous looking, but there was nothing particularly mean about him. He waved them in with a look that warned against misbehaviour. 

None of the Alexes were behind the bar. Instead there were two women—one tall and skinny with a nice sleeve of tattoos, the other a tiny, perky looking thing with white blonde and black streaked hair. 

Spencer couldn’t help a swell of anger at the sight. This was getting ridiculous. Every time they’d come in, it had been an Alex behind the bar. Just like with the closed boat shop and the non-existent timeshare company, he felt like someone was playing some epic joke on him, only it wasn’t remotely funny. 

Ryan strode over to the bar, tossing back his hair, and gave the women a belligerent look. They both went to him, the tall one leaning her hip against the bar and eyeing him like she wasn’t impressed. “What can I get for you?” she asked. 

“I’d like Pete,” Ryan said. 

The woman—her multicoloured nametag read _Alicia_ —laughed. “We don’t have any Pete on the menu, sorry.” 

Spencer pursed his lips. “Pete,” he said, stepping up to the bar. “He’s tiny, covered in tattoos, really fucking loud, has red streaks in his hair, friends with the owner.” 

The smaller girl, her name tag labelling her as Caz, shrugged. “Wentz? Yeah, he usually doesn’t show up until way late. I think. I’m sorta new around here.” 

Ryan drew a sharp breath and Spencer felt cool relief seep through his chest. “We need to get a hold of him,” Ryan said. 

Alicia dabbed at the counter with her rag, even though there was nothing there. “You’re gonna have to wait around,” she said. “He’ll show up eventually.” 

Ryan looked rebellious and Spencer spoke quickly, before Ryan could. “What about Travis. Is he around?” 

“Travis is really popular. He DJs at lots of clubs. I have no idea where he is tonight,” Alicia said. Her expression grew pissier with every word, which Spencer couldn’t understand. He and Ryan, _they_ were the ones with a reason to be pissy. 

“Look, someone around here has to have Pete’s number, right? Some way to get a hold of him. If he’s friends with the owners, maybe they have it,” Spencer said, trying to smile. 

“You want me to go ask the owners for someone’s number for you?” Alicia asked. She snorted. “Seriously, what the fuck is this? Did Pete put you up to some weird dare or something?” 

“Can we just talk to someone who might be able to fucking _help_ us?” Ryan snapped, and Alicia took a step back from the bar. Caz looked hesitantly between Ryan and Spencer, like unsure of what to do with them. 

“Look,” Alicia said, “I don’t want to have to get Zack to get you guys out of here. You should just go on your own.” 

Ryan looked at Spencer, and all of those years of friendship stretched between them, telling Spencer what Ryan had in mind. As one they turned, but instead of heading for the door they headed for the private balcony Pete favoured. They’d seen the door leading to the offices behind it, and it was worth the chance. 

“Hey, what the fuck!” Alicia protested. She was tiny, but she could probably kick Ryan’s ass, at least. 

Spencer picked up the pace, grabbing Ryan’s elbow and propelling him forward. He could hear Alicia and Caz making a lot of noise and a rumbling, low voice that sounded like the bouncer’s. He didn’t care. They took the stairs two at a time, the bouncer and bartenders hot on the heels and the door opened before Spencer or Ryan got anywhere near it. 

“What’s all the noise?” Brendon asked, and then his eyes fell on Ryan. Brendon was dressed in girl jeans about two sizes too small for him and a tropical print button down that hugged his curves. He managed to make it look good, with a soft fall of brown waves over his forehead and glossy lips. 

When Ryan dashed forward, hugging Brendon close and tight, Brendon looked like he belonged. Like he’d never belonged anywhere else. 

Brendon laughed, pulling back enough to tip his head back and jerk Ryan down for a kiss, longer and more involved than the one they’d shared on the deck, what seemed like a million years ago. “I’ve been waiting almost two years to do that,” Brendon murmured, parting just slightly before leaning back in for another kiss. 

Ryan shivered and pressed closer, arms twining around Brendon’s neck. Alicia said, “huh,” and went back down the stairs to tend to the bar, while Caz and Zack stared on, waiting. 

“Where’s Jon?” Spencer asked, the words getting caught up in his throat on the way out. “He’s here, right, he’s…”

“We thought you guys weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” Brendon said. “Patrick did the calculations.” 

“Patrick’s okay?” Spencer said in a rush. 

Brendon laughed, pressing his nose into Ryan’s neck. “You should have seen him, when we found him, all water logged, and Pete was like _this is the second time I’ve found you this way, Patrick Stump, no way you’re convincing me you’re not a merman, now_. Sort of where we got the name for the club. That, and because you’d said it, of course.” 

Ryan ran his hands down Brendon’s back, like he couldn’t believe Brendon was there, and Brendon twisted around to get into his pocket without actually letting Ryan go. He fished out a phone and tossed it to Spencer, who caught it with numb fingers. 

“Patrick’s calculations had you coming back tomorrow afternoon. He came back three days later, and after putting together some different accounts, he came up with a way to map departures and returns. I guess he was a little off with you guys. We would have been waiting for you, if we’d known…

“We used the info from your phones to figure out where you were from and when you came here so that we could make sure everything happened just how it should, right down to you seeing Gee and Greta and everyone. We didn’t want to risk not having you guys come back…” 

Brendon paused to kiss Ryan again, hands hooking in Ryan’s back pockets. It was sort of obscene, the way they were clinging to each other, and Spencer couldn’t be anything other than really happy for them. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Ryan panted, between kisses, “but what’s with all the sudden affection?” 

“ _Two years_ , Ryan Ross,” Brendon said, and kissed him again, hard. “Two years,” softly. He pressed his forehead to Ryan’s and looked to Spencer. “Jon’s number one on speed dial. But he should be here by now.” He shrugged and nuzzled Ryan’s throat. “Never know with Jon. He might still be asleep.” 

“So,” Zack said slowly, “everything’s okay up here?” 

Brendon beamed, nodding and tugged Ryan even closer, though there was no space between their bodies. “Zack, this is Ryan,” he said proudly. 

Zack cracked a smile. “I sort of got that,” he said. 

Spencer ignored them both, flipping open Brendon’s phone and thumbing to the one button. A picture of Jon came up on the screen, looking much the same as he had when Spencer had seen him last, almost two days ago. _Two years_ , he thought desperately. He contemplated the call button long enough that the phone went dark in his hand, impatient. 

“We were going to meet you at the beach,” Brendon repeated, murmuring to Ryan, but loud enough for Spencer to hear. “Travie and Bill and Gabe were planning a big shindig, booze and weed and music and stuff.” 

“I don’t even care anymore,” Ryan said fervently, and Spencer knew he meant it. It was strange to see. He’d never expected Ryan to fall in love for real, and hard like this, but it was impossible to mistake, there in his eyes as they roved over Brendon’s features. “I don’t care,” he said, and kissed Brendon again. 

Spencer pressed the ‘select’ key on the phone, watching it light up again, Jon’s picture still on the background, asking ‘call?’ He bit his lip. Maybe he should just wait. Two years was a really long time, and of course Brendon had waited, because he was adorable and innocent and maybe slightly insane in a Ryan attracting sort of way. 

But Jon was really charming and sexy, and he was experienced, even if he wasn’t a slut, and two years was a long time to wait on someone just because you’d had a good week together once, not knowing what would happen if and when you ever saw each other again. 

“Hey, party on the balcony,” he heard Jon say, before he saw him. It was the same voice, warm and gentle and Spencer’s heart leapt into his throat. 

Zack and Caz stepped apart to let Jon up and Spencer couldn’t breathe. He was still Jon, all soft brown eyes and lazy smile, but his hair was longer, curling at the back of his neck and around his face, and he was fresh shaved, and nowhere near as tan as he’d been the last time Spencer had seen him. 

Jon just smiled wider when he saw Spencer, a slow spread from his lips that lit up his eyes and Spencer couldn’t have moved if the whole place caught on fire, caught by the expression. 

“Hey,” Jon said, and Spencer was across the balcony without processing the movement of his feet, arms around Jon’s neck, and it didn’t matter that Jon was smaller; he caught Spencer’s weight happily, staggering just a little, when Spencer jumped, wrapping his legs around Jon’s waist. 

“Hey,” Jon said again, even softer, and lifted his face to meet Spencer’s kiss. It was different without Jon’s beard, soft skin on soft skin, lips sliding together in welcome, familiar and sweet. _Two years_ , Spencer thought, and tried to say with that kiss how sorry he was, how he would make it all up to Jon, given the chance. 

When Spencer leaned back, Zack and Caz were gone and Brendon and Ryan were tucked into one of the booths, practically horizontal, making out, hands roaming. Spencer sheepishly climbed down from Jon, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sorry,” he said. 

Jon laughed and tugged Spencer close again. “Seriously? You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.” 

“Um. I can leave,” Spencer said, mostly teasing, but with an underlying uncertainty. 

“Please don’t,” Jon said, all joking aside. Spencer thought he might actually melt under that gaze, steady and knowing. Jon palmed Spencer’s ass and Spencer jumped at the touch, rolling his hips against Jon’s. 

“I know it’s only been a day or so for you, but it’s been a lot longer for me, and not all of us have Brendon’s patience, and I really need to fuck you right now, and I’m clean, and please say yes, Spencer.” 

Spencer let out a surprised, pleased huff of laughter, and nodded his head against Jon’s shoulder. “Fuck, yes, are you kidding?” he said, and just kept laughing when Jon grabbed his wrist, dragging him along the balcony to the door at the back. 

It wasn’t that Spencer was expecting anything in particular, but the office was somehow not what he would have imagined. It was trendy and new, like the rest of the club, with a glass topped desk and matching coffee table, and leather furniture. The view from the window showed the bright lights of Nassau’s nightlife, electric and shiny. 

Jon let go long enough to get into the drawer of the desk and fished out a condom and a bottle of lube. “I haven’t been fucking around, before you even suggest it, and don’t think I didn’t know you were going to,” Jon said, glaring playfully. 

“Pete stashed these things all over the place a couple weeks ago, saying I’d need them when you got back. He put ‘em all over mine and Brendon’s house and in our offices and in my wallet and shit.” He laughed and shook his head. “Pain in the ass, but he was right.” 

“Jon,” Spencer said, and grabbed the hem of Jon’s dark green Henley, tugging. “Just fuck me.” 

Jon’s eyes sparked and he pushed Spencer back into the sofa, drawing kisses from him. They wrestled together for a minute, discarding clothing left and right until it was all skin on skin. Jon was warm and hard against Spencer’s body; real. 

“Spencer, I’ve been going crazy, waiting,” Jon said, when they settled together on the sofa, Spencer’s head resting on the arm. Jon was hard against Spencer’s thigh, so close to where Spencer wanted him, and if it had been difficult going without this for a few days, Jon seriously must have been losing his mind after two years. 

“You don’t have to any more,” Spencer said. Jon’s slid his hand between Spencer’s thighs, fisting his cock and pumping twice before searching lower with fingers slick and warm. 

“Do it,” Spencer panted, and Jon pushed two fingers in, twisting his wrist just right. 

Spencer arched his back into the touch, and didn’t try to stifle the whimper that rose from his throat. Outside the office the music of the club was thrumming loudly enough to cover the sounds they made. 

“How…” Spencer said, rolling his hips against Jon’s hand. Jon was _good_ , fingers gentle but sure, pressing deep and finding just the right spot. It was more purposeful, skilled, than Jon’s fumblings from before, and not that Spencer was complaining, and he wanted to believe that Jon had waited, but two years was a long time. “When did you…”

Jon bit Spencer’s thigh, hard enough to turn the skin bright red at once and make Spencer jump. “We’re going to have to work on your trust issues,” Jon said, and thrust a third finger in alongside the other two, rubbing roughly against Spencer’s prostate. 

“And while I wasn’t quite the man whore you believed me to be, I _had_ slept with women before you. And I’ve done some research here. It’s essentially the same thing. Just different…parts,” he said, and grinned, as he stroked that spot over and over, and Spencer’s legs trembled. 

“Jon,” Spencer said, “come here, fuck me, please,” in a rush, reaching out. 

Jon pulled his fingers free and got himself ready slowly, taking his time opening the condom and rolling it over his cock, watching Spencer watch him. Spencer groaned in frustration, hooking a foot behind Jon’s knee and tugging. 

Jon laughed, falling forward, catching himself with his arms braced by Spencer’s head. He was beautiful and so open in his happiness, and it made Spencer’s breath come faster. Made him feel light-headed with a rush of confusion and relief and affection and lingering fear that somehow this might not be real. 

“I was worried I’d never see you again,” Spencer said, reached out to brush a hand down Jon’s cheek. Jon turned his face, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s wrist, and pushed forward, sinking into Spencer’s body. 

Spencer’s breath caught and he held it, wrapped his arms around Jon’s shoulders and wound his hands through Jon’s curls. Jon rested when he was all the way inside and Spencer thought he could stay like that forever, stretched and open and full of _Jon_. 

“Wouldn’t let a little thing like two hundred years keep me away from you,” Jon whispered, and Spencer closed his eyes against the sudden stinging, let Jon catch his mouth in a kiss. Knew that it was true for him, too. If Jon hadn’t been here, Spencer would have fought his way back to find him. 

“I,” Spencer said, and swallowed hard. He opened his eyes, finding Jon’s. “Jon, I…”

“I know,” Jon said, and smiled so sweetly. “Me too.” And he moved, slow and steady. Spencer moved with him, bracing his heels against the sofa and pushing up to meet every thrust. 

It could have been over quickly, or it might have gone on forever, but it just felt right, coming apart when Jon’s hand finally closed around Spencer, jerking in time to his thrusts. Spencer moaned through it, still working back on Jon’s cock until Jon’s hips lost their rhythm and he buried his face in Spencer’s neck, biting down hard enough that Spencer’s cock tried to get excited again. 

Jon fell against Spencer’s chest, hugging him around the waist, fingers clasping and sliding over Spencer’s skin, damp with sweat and come. “I’m totally going to be ready to do that again in about ten minutes,” Jon said and Spencer could feel the grin against his collarbone matching the one spreading over his own face. 

They finally stumbled out of the office over an hour later, clothing and hair rumpled. It was obvious to anyone with eyes what they’d been doing and sure enough, as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, they were met with thunderous applause. 

In the time they’d been busy, the Mermaid had filled up with familiar faces. Brendon and Ryan were still all over each other in one of the booths, but they’d been joined by Pete, Patrick, the entire crew of the _Mamba_ and Greta, Gerard and Frank. Down below the long haired Alex was behind the bar with Caz and Alicia, and Cash was chatting him up. 

“I called everyone while you were…busy,” Brendon said, managing to pull his mouth away from Ryan’s for a second. 

Jon rolled his eyes and leaned in to whisper to Spencer. “I’m honestly really impressed that they’re still here and still clothed. Brendon’s been talking, in some detail, about what he’s been planning for Ryan’s return.” 

“Please, don’t tell me,” Spencer said, because there were things he definitely did not want to know about Ryan’s sex life. Like. All things, about Ryan’s sex life. 

“I’m really sorry about the miscalculation,” Patrick said. He looked a lot more at home here, dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt, a trucker cap pulled low over his hair. “I made a window that started tomorrow at four, but these things aren’t always precise. Or if they are, I can’t figure out how.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Spencer said, feeling generous. Mostly because he’d just come three times in a row, and he was glad Patrick wasn’t dead. “We thought you were…”

Patrick waved a hand. “I couldn’t cross over to the same time as you and the boat was tied to your time, so I got sucked back without it,” he said. 

“Luckily,” Pete said, slinging an arm over Patrick’s shoulders, “we were there to rescue him.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, flushing, “lucky me.” Pete whispered something like “don’t front” against the skin of Patrick’s neck and Patrick turned his head to let Pete kiss him for a brief second. 

“Patrick was a lot stricter than you, about the whole ‘no sex’ thing. He wouldn’t give Pete any until he’d been checked out at a hospital, the whole deal,” Jon said in a whisper. “How did he...” Spencer trailed off, uncertain where to start. “How did you guys do all of this? How did you get to the hospital without any papers? And you and Brendon _own_ this place?” “Well, the _Infinity_ got back before we did,” Jon said. “Patrick had most of that figured out by the time we showed up, eleven months later. Money will get you pretty much anything, and he had a ship full of guys who knew where to find some really old, really valuable treasure.” 

Everyone welcomed Spencer warmly. Some more warmly than was strictly necessary, because Spencer seriously didn’t need Gabriel groping his ass, but whatever. It was nice everyone was here and alright. Bill, once again with terrible hair, gave him a quick hug and said, “I’m really glad you okay and stuff, but please tell my you have my Michael Guy.” 

Spencer had totally forgotten about Michael, and was sure the guilt showed on his face. “He’s at the hotel. He was really trashed. Hadn’t slept in days.” 

“We should go rescue the poor dear,” Bill said solemnly. “Introduce him to the various pleasures of the twenty-first century…”

“It’s our duty,” Mike agreed. “As good friends and good crewmates.” Sisky and the Butcher nodded their fervent agreement, and they, along with Travis and Gabe, disappeared. 

Bill called over his shoulder as he left, “We’re still having that party tomorrow. 5. By the shop. Mikey’ll be back for it.” 

“I got the _good_ shit,” Gabriel said, and then they were gone. 

“Time doesn’t change _all_ things,” Patrick said wisely. 

Their party thus diminished, it was easy for the remaining members to squeeze into the round booth with Brendon and Ryan, who shot everyone pissy looks at being interrupted. Alex and Cash came up bearing shots and Alicia opened the balcony bar to keep them caught up. 

Somewhere around the fifth shot, Frank somehow appeared on the booth between Ryan and Spencer, seemingly out of nowhere. Spencer blinked at him. “I wanted to apologise,” Frank said, and he sounded sheepish. Looked it, too. In fact, he looked like a sheepish, cuddly bunny, like it would be absurd to suggest he was the person responsible for the scab on Ryan’s neck. 

“Yeah?” Spencer said, unimpressed. 

Frank hung his head. “I was a total dickhead to you guys, and it was really unforgivable, I know…” He eyed Ryan’s neck uncertainly, and Spencer could understand. Frank had been here for over three years, and now he was witnessing fresh evidence of what he’d done. 

“I know it’s unforgivable,” Frank said again, “but I was worried about Gee, you know, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted him back.” 

Ryan’s face softened and he put an awkward hand on Frank’s shoulder. “We’re cool,” Ryan said, and Frank’s shoulders sagged in relief, then tightened again when he looked anxiously at Spencer. 

“You touch Ryan again, I’m going to have to kill you,” Spencer said speculatively. “But I can sort of understand where you were coming from.” 

Frank smiled and it was all sunshine and slightly deranged puppies. He gave Spencer a smacking kiss on the cheek and Ryan one over his healing cut. Ryan raised a brow, holding his hand lightly to the cut. Frank just grinned unrepentantly and wriggled out from between them, under the table, resurfacing next to Gerard. 

Spencer watched them bemusedly. Gerard had a goofy smile just for Frank, and the two of them looked like complete, dorky idiots in love, nothing like the scary guy in the leather jacket from the boat rental place, or the knife happy psycho from the _Sea_. 

It was really nice catching up with everyone—listening to Alex and Ryland talk about their music, or Nate and Joe going on and on about surfing, or Andy showing off all his really awesome tattoos acquired in the past couple years. 

Still, Spencer was hyperaware of Jon beside him, the warmth of Jon’s body pressing close, and Jon’s hands roaming over his side, down his back, playing with his hair. He sort of wanted to get out of here. 

Nate was in the middle of a story about a hippy on the beach when Jon nosed aside Spencer’s hair, putting his lips to Spencer’s ear. “I hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon,” Jon said casually, breath coming hot and fast against Spencer’s skin, “because I’m taking you home and not letting you out of bed for the next month or so.” 

Spencer found Jon’s hand blindly, linking their fingers together, and looked at Ryan. Ryan tipped his head to the side, reading Spencer’s face, knowing. He waited for Spencer, like there was even a choice. 

Spencer thought about New York. About their nice apartment and the great job he’d got, only at the expense of what he’d really wanted from his life. He thought about winter in New York—biting cold wind and snow soaking his shoes—late nights with Ryan and early mornings when he didn’t want to get out of bed, and how Ryan’s eyes got dark and cold as the season when the nights grew longer and longer. 

He said, “There is _nowhere_ else I want to be.” 

Ryan’s smile was soft and secret, covered quickly by Brendon’s kiss. Spencer leaned into Jon’s side, nuzzled Jon’s chin, up, up, until Jon lifted his face for a kiss, long and consuming. “Take me home, Jon,” Spencer whispered. 

* Pete, Gerard and Ryan have been up since some ungodly hour, down on the beach making _art_. Usually Ryan’s a lot quieter about it, but throw Pete into any mix and you’re guaranteed an increase of at least twenty decibels. 

Now that Pete has fulfilled his destiny as a timeshare salesman (every time Spencer points out that Pete was never technically a timeshare salesman in the first place, Pete very pointedly ignores him), he’s got these grand ideas about art studios and coffee shops and Patrick singing. 

Jon grumbles when Spencer climbs out of bed, reaching and catching the waistband of Spencer’s boxers and tugging. Spencer staggers and laughs, landing with his elbow in Jon’s gut. 

“It’s really great, Jon, that you could sleep through the nuclear holocaust, but some of us didn’t spend most of their lives on a ship full of noisy assholes,” Spencer says, but still lets Jon roll them over, trapping Spencer in sheets and winding limbs. 

Spencer lies there for a minute, feeling Jon settle back into sleep. Over the distant crash of waves on the shore, Spencer can hear the strains of that shit that Gerard pretends is real music. 

When he’s certain Jon’s out again, Spencer wriggles free, slipping from between fresh, clean sheets into the warm early morning breeze blowing through from the veranda. He steps out into the sunlight on his way to the bathroom. 

Patrick and Ryan are under the gazebo, stretched out on their stomachs, notebooks scattered around them. Gerard is down by the shore with Frank, and it looks like they’re collecting seashells. Spencer smiles and hurries to brush his teeth and throw on some clothes to join them. 

It’s been at least two weeks since he’s had any reason to wear anything other than swimming trunks and the occasional t-shirt when they go into town for dinner or groceries, or a visit to the club. Spencer’s spent the past several months happily building a wardrobe of nothing but different styles and prints of swimwear. When he and Ryan had gone to New York to pack things up, Spencer had left all his suits behind. 

Michael is in the living room with Butcher, Sisky and Nate, playing video games. They have their own set up, but they like Brendon’s games better, and usually everyone gravitates towards one place during the day, when there’s nothing else to do. 

These days Michael is almost completely at ease in the twenty-first century, but it’s been fun watching him acclimatise. Bill hadn’t stopped talking about Michael’s first car ride for _weeks_ , and Spencer had to admit it was pretty hilarious, Michael clinging to the ohshit handle, eyes squeezed shut tightly, and the way he’d stumbled onto the curb after and got sick in the gutter. Of course, that might have had more to do with Gabe’s driving than anything else…

Other things, Patrick has assured Spencer, were pretty much the universal reactions for all their friends. Spencer was disappointed he hadn’t been around when Jon first got back, but watching Michael was almost as good—the way he spent hours staring at the microwave with equal fascination as he showed in the television, standing in front of the open refrigerator just to feel the cool of the air, flicking light switches on and off until Gabe declared a light switch rave and Patrick complained he was going to have a seizure. 

Most nights there are still movie marathons which keep Michael on the edge of his seat, and he still listens to music pretty much every second of the day, one bud permanently in his ear, saying he has to play catch up with everyone who already _knows_ all these bands and songs. Mikey had made him a pretty comprehensive playlist when Bill gave Michael an iPod. 

It’s almost easy to imagine Jon’s own transition. He’s obsessed with film and photography, which isn’t surprising to Spencer in the least. Still, as much as Jon loves taking pictures, he still paints often, says photographs never get it quite right. Spencer always has to roll his eyes, because it’s stupid and romantic and it makes his breath catch and heart beat faster how much hearing Jon say cheesy stuff like that makes Spencer fall harder in love. 

Jon’s also remarkably useless when it comes to using a computer. Sometimes Spencer can’t help but watch, laughing until his stomach hurts as Jon pecks at the keyboard, eyes trained on his fingers, only to look up and realise he hasn’t got his cursor in the text field. It’s probably for the best that Pete and Patrick handle most of the business aspect of their enterprises. 

Brendon’s in the kitchen, similarly dressed to Spencer, hair sticking up like he’s already been in the ocean. He’s humming along to Gerard’s noise, hips moving with the beat, working on sandwiches. “Welcome back to the world of the living,” Brendon teases. “You know, you can only keep up the Gerard-is-a-vampire jokes when you’re still getting up earlier than him.” 

Out of everyone, Brendon and Pete are the ones who look the most comfortable with their transitions. Brendon is really incredibly laid back about the whole thing, taking everything in stride. He’s easily pleased by new things, but rarely startled or confused by them. It’s really fascinating, the way he can be handed something new and have it figured out in a manner of minutes, better than Spencer or Ryan or anyone familiar with modern technology. 

Brendon’s the best at video games, rivals Patrick at music stuff, got his driver’s and boat licenses first and with perfect scores. And, after hanging around Spencer and watching for a few days, Brendon is now able to do most things with a computer that Spencer learned through four years of college. 

It makes Ryan stupidly proud. It makes Spencer feel less guilty about the fact that these people have been drawn from their lives, because really, they’re happy here, and they’re thriving. 

Spencer squints at the clock over the oven. Just past one in the afternoon. He doesn’t usually sleep in quite so late, but he and Jon just got back from a recovery and while they were at sea their schedule got a little fucked. 

“Blow me,” Spencer mutters and Brendon pouts at him. 

“Be nice, or I’m not making any lunch for you,” Brendon says haughtily, but laughs when Spencer sneaks a wedge of cheese from the plate Brendon’s preparing. 

Spencer helps Brendon bringing the trays of food down to the beach. There’s already a cooler of beer and soda sweating in the shade of the boathouse. When Gerard spots them he gives Spencer a sheepish look and shuffles to change the music, settling on something a little less abrasive. 

Pete has set up umbrellas just at the right spot for the foam of the tide to spray their feet as it comes in, far enough away to keep the food safe. Ryan comes wandering down from the gazebo, notebook in hand, looking adorably ridiculous in boxers and a lightweight robe. 

“You guys were late last night,” Ryan comments, dropping down at Spencer’s side. Spencer nods agreeably. The sunlight is really bright and he still doesn’t feel entirely awake, everything glowing around the edges like a dream. “Find anything cool.” 

“So cool, Ross,” Spencer says. Patrick perks up, his attention on Spencer. “Looks like it’s mostly intact, which means the paintings and valuables should still be on board. Jon says we should probably head back out before Tuesday. The weather doesn’t look very promising, after that.” 

Patrick hums his approval. “I’ll make sure all the paperwork’s squared away. Stacey’ll have a fit about preserving the anthropological integrity of the project if we don’t talk to the Dutch Embassy and local government first.” 

A little thrill of excitement and anticipation goes down Spencer’s spine. He’s only recently finished up all his certifications for diving. Before now he’s always just been along for the ride, rather than an active participant. He never imagined he’d see the day he was an honest to god treasure hunter, but it’s sort of incredibly fun and exhilarating, not to mention lucrative. 

“So we’re going to be hanging out in Curaçao for a while,” Ryan says, and maybe someone else wouldn’t be able to tell how excited he is, but Spencer’s known him long enough to pick up on it. 

Ryan’s flourished in the Caribbean, happier and more confident, and best of all, really motivated. He’s happy with what he’s creating, both lyrically and musically and he’s fascinated with the oral histories and literature of the various islands. He and Brendon spend a lot of time jumping from island to island, and always travel with Jon, Patrick and Spencer when they head out. He’s doing research, planning on putting together a book of adaptations on the mythologies and what Spencer’s read so far is awesome. 

“It’s really gorgeous,” Spencer said. “Jon’s found this house we can rent, right on the harbour in Willemstad. It looks fake from the outside, you know, Dutch architecture, and it’s bright blue and pink; you’ll love it.” He gives Ryan a teasing smirk and Ryan elbows him just because. 

Spencer loves travelling to all the different islands in the area and beyond, but he’s glad they have this one to call home. The little chunk of beach owned by Patrick et al stretches a good few miles, dotted with most of their homes. 

Some, like Gabe, Travis and Will, and Mikey and Alicia prefer their condos and apartments in the city, but they’re only twenty minutes from the club and Spencer likes the slower speed here, living at his own pace, sleeping in with Jon, making love anytime they want, walking around in swim trunks and bare feet, jamming with whoever’s around whenever he feels like it. 

Several yards down and further out to sea, Nate, Joe and Greta are messing around on their boards while Bob and Darren tread water at their sides. A short way down the beach Victoria comes tripping out her back door, Gizmo trotting ahead. Hobo perks up and bounds across the sand to meet halfway, while Hemmy and Boba are content to watch from their place in the shade. 

Ryan and Spencer couldn’t have dogs in New York. Their lease allowed it, but they’d both agreed it was cruel to keep pets just to have them locked inside for long hours everyday while their owners were at work. Now they’ve got their dogs, and Brendon’s, and all of Jon’s crazy cats and it’s just one more thing Spencer had sacrificed in the past that he’s allowed to have now. 

Victoria, Gee and Frank are always happy to take care of the pets when they’re travelling; Victoria keeps her boutique in town and while Frank helps Mikey managing a lot of local bands, Mikey does most of the travel. 

Sometimes it’s difficult for Spencer to look back on the past, short six months and recognise his life. And he means that in the most awesome way possible. 

“You’re a cheater, Spencer Smith,” Jon bellows from the back deck. 

Ryan bends his neck back to glance at Jon upside down and says, “We’re just good friends,” with a suggestive drawl and Spencer chuckles. 

Jon trudges across the sand, flip flops leaving trails of sand as he goes and drops dramatically on the blanket in front of Spencer, getting sand on Spencer’s plate. “Sneaking out of bed when I’m asleep,” Jon says, and pouts. 

Spencer dips a carrot in ranch and shoves it in Jon’s mouth. Jon hums happily and shuts up, laying his head in Spencer’s lap. Spencer lets his fingers tangle in the curls, still all messed from bed, takes the roach Pete’s passing around with his free hand, pressing it to Jon’s mouth when he swallows. 

Something mellow is playing now. It’s vaguely familiar, one of the bands Brendon in particular likes, with lots of strings. The sound of it, combined with the waves and the lazy feel of the day makes Spencer’s eyes drift shut. Without seeing, he almost feels like he could be existing two-hundred years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Muse for beta-ing and giving me a million and nine lolarious ideas when I got stuck towards the end. Thanks also to lolab for cheering me on and demanding more. Without those two, I don’t know if I ever would have finished this…


End file.
